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ADOBELAND 
STORIES 


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Adobeland  Stories 


ADOBELAND   STORIES 


VERNER  Z.   REED 

Author  of '-'■  htt~To~Kah  "  and"  Tales  of  the  Sunland"' 


Adobeland, —  great  silent  land, 
Weird  world  made  up  of  sky  and  sand, 
Where  the  mirage  mocks,  and  sand-storms  swirl, 
And  brown  peaks  brood  at  the  drear,  dead  world. 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.   BADGER  ^  CO. 

1899 


THE  COVER  DESIGN  IS  BY  MISS  MARION  L.  PEABODY 
THE  TITLE-PAGE  BY  MR.  ORVILLE   P.  WILLIAMS 


COPYRIGHT   1898 
BY    RICHARD    G.    BADGER    &    CO. 


All  Ricrbts  Reserved 


BLLIS,   PRINTER,   1*1    FRANI'.LIK   STREET,   BOSTON 


955 
ado 


CHARLES    CRAIG 

IN  MEMORY  OF   MANY   PLEASANT   DAYS  SPENT 

TOGETHER,   LOITERING,    DREAMING,   AND 

EXPLORING    IN    ADOBELAND 


rvi6i8947 


Preface 

IT  would  seem  that  a  preface  were  entirely  un- 
necessary to  a  book  of  short  stories,  many  of 
w^hich  have  no  foundation  in  fact,  and  which  are 
meant  to  be  merely  stories,  pure  and  simple.  A 
preface  w^ould  not  be  written  in  this  case,  were  it  not 
for  the  fact  that  the  lack  of  one  to  my  former 
book.  Tales  of  the  Sun-Land,  caused  considerable  mis- 
understanding. The  stories  in  that  book  are  pure 
fictions,  are  meant  only  as  such,  and  they  make 
no  pretensions  to  historical  or  ethnological  accuracy 
further  than  is  necessary  for  the  base,  or  settings,  of 
the  tales.  I  tried,  of  course,  to  clothe  them  with 
verisimilitude;  but  I  have  been  disappointed  because 
some  of  the  critics  who  reviewed  the  book  have  mis- 
taken the  stories  for  attempted  portrayals  of  actual 
legends.  The  mistake  was  the  more  natural  on  the 
part  of  some  of  the  readers  of  the  book  because  of 
the  fact  that  I  have  written  down  a  few  actual  Indian 
legends;  and  I  am  at  fault  because  I  did  not  write  a 
preface,  fully  explaining  that  all  the  book  stood  for,  or 
meant    to   be,    was   a    collection  of  imaginative  tales, 

9 


lo  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


having  no  foundation  in  fact,  and  intended  only  to  be 
amusing,  and,  in  some  slight  degree,  an  approach  to 
things  that  might  have  been,  but  w^ere  not. 

A  preface,  then,  being  sometimes  necessary,  even  to 
a  little  book,  I  make  this  one.  And  in  it  I  want  to 
say  that  these  Adobeland  stories,  like  most  of  the 
others  I  have  written,  have  for  their  chief  purpose 
amusement,  and  not  instruction.  It  is  scarcely  neces- 
sary to  say  that  Santa  Beatriz  does  not  exist,  or  that 
Antonio  Salcido  is  mythical.  Yet,  while  the  tales 
are  fictions,  there  are  —  as  with  almost  all  things  else 
in  the  world  —  some  threads  of  truth  running 
through  some  of  them.  In  journeying  among  the 
people  who  dwell  in  Adobeland,  one  will  see  some 
tragedies,  some  little  romances,  and  the  inner  joys  and 
sorrows  of  some  hearts.  I  have  woven  a  little  of 
some  of  these  things  into  some  of  the  stories,  adorning 
the  facts  enough  to  make  them  more  properly  belong 
to  fiction  than  to  reality. 

And  so,  the  little  book  is  done,  and  will  soon  be 
beyond  me  and  out  o{  my  reach,  and  where  **  nor  all 


PREFACE 


my  piety  nor  wit  can  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a 
line."  The  making  of  it,  which  has  been  done  at 
intervals  and  at  places  far  removed,  has  been  a 
pleasant  task;  for,  as  I  wrote,  there  came  back  mem- 
ories of  pleasant  days  spent  under  the  blue  skies  and 
the  bright  sun,  and  among  the  quaint,  brown-skinned 
peoples  of  Adobeland, —  that  sun-kissed  land  which 
extends  from  the  Arkansas  River  in  Colorado,  south- 
ward to  the  end  of  my  knowledge,  and,  I  think,  to 
the  end  of  the  world.  There  were  memories  of  red- 
tiled,  white- walled  old  Mexican  cities,  drowsing  in  the 
rays  of  the  tropic  sun;  of  crude  Indian  homes  in  the 
great  wind-swept  San  Juan  or  in  the  ancient  pueblos 
of  New  Mexico;  of  broad  deserts,  where  living  things 
are  few,  and  where  mirages  hover  on  the  horizon;  of 
quiet  valleys  that  seem  to  be  just  on  the  edge  of  the 
world;  and,  more  than  all  else,  memories  of  good 
friends,  brown  and  red  and  white,  with  whom  I  have 
broken  bread  and  exchanged  stories  and  ridden  over 
the  mesas  and  across  the  valleys  and  smoked  and 
enjoyed  life,  and  who  have,  moreover,  helped  me  to 
a  better  understanding  of  my   fellow-men.      Some  of 


12  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


these  people  showed  me  their  hearts,  and  taught  me 
that  heredity  and  environment,  race  and  blood,  belief 
and  creed,  all  sink  into  insignificance  before  the  great 
fact  that  we  are  all  humans,  and  that  humanity  is 
humanity's  nearest  kin. 

If  the  stories  amuse  and  entertain  their  readers,  and 
bring  to  their  minds  the  recollection  that  away  to  the 
southward  and  to  the  westward  there  is  a  quaint, 
picturesque  land,  full  of  romance  and  beauty,  and  if 
they  shall  help  a  little  to  spread  the  truth  that  human 
hearts  —  whether  they  beat  under  brown  skins  or 
white  —  are  much  the  same,  I  shall  feel  that  there  is 
some  justification  for  their  existence. 

Colorado  Springs, 
November,  1898. 


Contents 


PAGE 


Antonio  Salcido's  Story       ....  15 

Santa   Beatriz 49 

The  Tale  of  Burnt-foot  Maiden    .  77 

Luz 96 

An  Indian's  Revenge 114 

At  the   Pu-ye  Cliffs 131 

The  Law  of  Seh-now-wuff      .     .      .  166 


ADOBELAND    STORIES 


Antonio  Salcido's  Story 


WE  were  junketing  in  the  old-new  land  of 
Mexico.  Every  hour  was  worth  living; 
and  many  of  them  would  have  been  worth 
living  over  again,  which  can  be  said  of  too  few  of  the 
hours  that  go  to  make  up  the  span  of  a  human  life. 
We  were  enjoying  ourselves  so  much  that  we  grudged 
the  time  that  had  to  be  spent  in  sleep.  Everything 
was  of  interest, —  old  cathedrals,  little  mud  chapels 
and  shrines,  bull  rings,  haciendas,  quartels,  the  pleas- 
ant plazas  of  the  cities,  the  picturesque  architecture, 
and,  most  of  all,  the  people, —  from  the  courtly  Dons 
who  spoke  French  and  talked  of  literature  and  state- 
craft, to  the  black  Indians  who  came  down  from  the 
fastnesses  of  the  Chihuahua  Mountains  to  watch  the 
great  **  thunder  wagons"  go  screeching  and  rocking 
across  the  deserts. 

When  we  came  to  Aguas  Calientes,  we  had  the 
strange  feeling,  so  often  experienced  by  travellers,  of 
having  reached  a  place  familiar  to  us,  but  which  in 
reality  we  had  never  seen  before,  and  yet  the  arriving 
at  which  seemed  something  like  coming  to  our  own 
homes.      To  us  the  quaint  old  flat-roofed  city  was  the 

15 


1 6  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


best  spot  in  all  Mexico.  It  is  not  so  beautiful  as 
Guadalajara,  nor  so  picturesque  as  hill-hemmed  Guan- 
ajuato, nor  so  busy  as  the  mountain-girt  City  of 
Mexico,  nor  so  quaint  as  red-tiled  old  Orizaba.  But 
the  beautiful  little  plaza  seemed  dimly  like  a  place 
where  we  had  played  in  childhood,  the  palace  was 
like  a  familiar  thing  that  we  had  known  all  our  lives, 
and  the  booming  of  the  big  bells  in  the  cathedral  was 
like  well-remembered  sounds.  And  we  revelled  in 
the  beauty  and  quaintness  and  restfulness  and  half- 
familiar  strangeness  of  Aguas  Calientes.  We  passed 
inquisitively  through  the  churches,  getting  sly  glances 
from  the  women  who  knelt  upon  the  hard  floors;  we 
struck  up  acquaintances  with  the  market  people  who 
sat  on  the  stone  paving  of  the  streets  beside  their  little 
heaps  of  merchandise  ;  we  wandered  among  the  low- 
roofed  houses,  going  from  the  workshops  of  the 
weavers  of  scrapes  and  rebosos  to  the  low,  cool  rooms 
where  women  and  children  toiled  through  all  the 
hours  of  light  over  the  fine  drawn  linen  work  that  has 
made  the  name  of  the  city  famous.  And  it  was  in 
the  Arabian  Nights  city  of  Aguas  Calientes  that  we 
first  met  Antonio  Salcido,  now  a  millionaire  child  of 
Luck,  one  time  a  peotiy  whose  story  seemed  to  us 
worthy  of  being  written  down. 

We  had  gone  with  a  guide,  in  a  quaint  old  coach 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  17 

drawn  by  two  happy-looking  mules,  to  explore  the 
old  panteoUy  or  cemetery,  that  lies  at  the  north-western 
corner  of  the  city.  When  tired  of  looking  at  old 
monuments,  and  having  the  sexton  point  out  the  slabs 
that  covered  the  bodies  of  wandering  Americans  who 
had  died  in  Mexico  long  before  the  coming  of  the 
railroads,  we  drove  down  the  mud-walled  street  that 
runs  to  the  south,  and  stopped  at  one  of  the  places 
where  the  glazed  pottery  peculiar  to  that  city  is  made. 
Standing  in  the  narrow  streets  were  a  pedler's  two 
carts,  loaded  to  overflowing  with  earthenware  uten- 
sils ;  and  tethered  to  the  wall  were  the  mules  that 
drew  the  carts.  There  were  picturesque  and  romantic 
suggestions  about  the  outfit, —  visions  of  long  drives 
across  cactus-covered  plains  and  down  winding  canons  ; 
thoughts  of  isolated  villages,  of  far-away  mining 
camps,  and  of  the  haunts  of  Indian  tribes,  all  of 
which  might  be  visited  by  these  weather-beaten  carts 
and  their  weather-stained  owners  in  their  journeys  up 
and  down  the  land.  So  we  made  inquiries,  which 
resulted  in  our  becoming  possessed  of  information. 
The  carts  were  owned  by  Antonio  Salcido, —  who 
was  affable  and  very  much  at  our  service.  The  three 
men  with  him  were  in  his  employ,  one  to  help  him  sell 
goods,  and  the  others  to  cook,  and  care  for  the  mules. 
He  dealt  chiefly  in   the    gray  ware    of   Guadalajara, 


8  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


which  is  better  and  finer  than  any  other  pottery  made 
in  Mexico  except  the  glazed  ware  wrought  by  the 
Tarasco  Indians  ;  but,  having  been  unusually  fortu- 
nate, he  had  sold  out  sooner  than  he  had  anticipated, 
and  had  bought  a  new  stock  in  Aguas  Calientes  to  be 
sold  on  the  remainder  of  his  journey.  All  of  w^hich 
was  true  as  far  as  it  concerned  his  three  employees, 
and  which  was  cheerfully  untrue  so  far  as  it  related  to 
Salcido,  who  had  not  seen  his  mules  and  carts  nor  the 
city  of  Guadalajara  for  two  years.  Salcido  talked  to 
us  in  good  English.  He  told  us  of  the  value  of  his 
wares,  of  the  long  journey  he  was  making,  which  he 
expected  to  end  somewhere  to  the  south  of  Silao  ; 
and  he  said  many  interesting  things  about  the  out-of- 
the-way  villages  and  haciendas  that  his  vocation  caused 
him  to  visit.  He  might  not  have  talked  so  much  if 
we  had  not  asked  so  many  questions,  yet  he  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  time  as  well  as  we.  He  was  a  tall, 
well-formed  man,  about  thirty-five  years  of  age,  and 
was  dressed  in  a  rather  faded  charro  costume,  consist- 
ing of  short  leather  coat,  tight  leather  trousers,  a  wide 
felt  sombrero,  and  tan  shoes.  From  his  side  swung 
a  holster  containing  a  big  revolver,  a  belt  of  cartridges 
was  about  his  waist,  and  he  had  some  fine  silver  orna- 
ments on  his  sombrero.  We  got  acquainted  with  this 
man  because  we  thought  it  was  worth  while;   and  he 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  19 

gave  the  Senora  a  little  glazed  drinking-cup,  that  now 
occupies  a  very  exalted  place  in  our  collection  of 
curios. 

In  the  ev^ening  I  met  him  by  chance  in  the  plaza, 
and  we  listened  to  the  music  of  the  band  and  talked 
for  two  hours.  Then  we  drank  tequila  together,  ex- 
pressed our  hopes  of  some  time  meeting  again,  and 
said  farewell.  In  the  morning  he  drove  away  to  the 
south,  ostensibly  to  sell  pottery,  but  in  reality  upon 
a  grave  errand,  of  which,  at  that  time,  we  knew 
nothing  ;  and  we  remained  in  Aguas  Calientes  to 
bathe  in  the  mineral  waters  and  mingle  like  two 
happy  vagabonds  in  the  life  of  the  quaint  old  town. 
We  remembered  dimly  that  far  to  the  north  there  was 
a  cold,  hard  land  of  banks  and  mines  and  stock  ex- 
changes, where  men  were  breathlessly  hurrying  from 
their  cradles  to  their  graves,  stopping  only  to  clutch 
at  dollars  as  they  went;  but  we  believ^ed  that  they 
were  missing  the  fulness  of  life,  and  we  forgot  them, 
and  enjoyed  the  tropic  sky  and  the  kindly  people, — 
and  wondered  why  so  bright  a  man  as  Salcido  was 
nothing  but  a  pedler  of  earthenware. 

Some  days  later  we  were  in  Silao,  and  were 
quartered  at  the  Hotel  St.  Julian,  then  kept  by  a  man 
who  looked  as  though  he  had  a  spite  at  the  world 
because  he  chanced  to  be  living  in  it,  and  whose  wife 


20  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

was  much  worse-looking  than  her  husband.  In  the 
older  days,  before  the  iron  hand  of  Diaz  rested  like 
a  stern  blessing  upon  all  the  face  of  turbulent  Mexico, 
Silao  was  one  of  the  chief  centres  of  the  enterprising 
bandits  who  infested  the  land;  and  the  host  and 
hostess  of  the  inn  St.  Julian  seemed  to  be  perpetually 
grieving  because  the  old  days  were  gone,  and  instead 
of  being  picturesque  banditti  they  could  be  only  pro- 
saic hotel-keepers.  When  the  supper  was  over,  we 
left  them  looking  morosely  and  sourly  at  each  other, 
and  went  and  sat  on  one  of  the  stone  seats  in  the 
alameda,  and  spent  an  hour  watching  the  motley 
crowd  of  soldiers,  beggars,  priests,  and  bandits  in 
disguise,  that  passed  up  and  down  that  thoroughfare. 
Just  below  the  southern  end  of  the  alameda  at  Silao 
there  is  an  open  field,  somewhat  resembling  the  com- 
mon of  Eastern  villages.  While  we  were  sitting  on 
the  stone  bench,  watching  the  moon  and  the  people, 
we  chanced  to  look  toward  this  open  place,  and  saw 
the  ruddy  glow  of  a  camp-fire,  and  busy  men  cooking, 
and  feeding  mules.  We  strolled  over  to  the  camp, 
and  were  pleasantly  surprised  to  receive  a  warm  greet- 
ing from  our  friend  Antonio  Salcido,  the  corredor,  or 
pedler,  whom  we  had  met  in  Aguas  Calientes.  We 
passed  a  pleasant  hour,  and  then  the  Sciiora  was 
tired,  and   went   to   her   room;   and,  when  I  returned 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  21 

from  taking  her  there,  Salcido  and  I  seated  ourselves 
on  a  stone  bench,  there  was  some  drinking  of 
tequila,  some  smoking  of  black  cigars  from  Orizaba, 
and  then  the  corredor,  perhaps  prompted  by  the 
strange  desire  that  causes  men  to  confide  in  strangers, 
perhaps  influenced  somewhat  by  the  tequila,  told  me 
his  story.  And  in  his  own  words,  as  nearly  as  I 
can  remember  them,  it  is  thus:  — 

*'As  you  know,  my  name  is  Antonio  Salcido.  I 
own  these  carts  and  mules  and  goods;  and  I  also  own 
houses,  and  have  money  loaned  out  for  the  interest  it 
will  draw.  And  —  while  it  is  known  to  but  few  be- 
side myself —  I  am  now  a  very  rich  man, —  so  rich 
that  I  can  dwell  in  luxury  and  splendor  in  any  coun- 
try in  the  world.  I  have  been  rich  for  two  years; 
and  for  two  years  I  have  travelled,  while  my  men 
drove  up  and  down  the  country  with  these  carts  and 
mules.  This  journey  is  the  last  of  its  kind  that  I 
shall  make,  and  I  make  it  for  a  far  greater  purpose 
than  to  sell  those  pots  and  jars.  And  I  was  once 
a  peon,  had  never  seen  a  city,  and  could  not  read  or 
write.  Is  it  not  strange  what  changes  a  few  years 
will  make  in  the  life  of  a  man  ? 

**  I  was  born  on  an  hacienda  that  lies  in  a  valley  of 
the  mountains  that  are  east  of  the  great  hacienda  of 
Santa  Barbara,  which  place  you   must   have  seen  on 


ADOBELAND  STORIES 


your  way  here.  My  mother  and  the  man  who  was 
called  my  father  were  in  debt  to  the  hacendadoy  as 
were  all  the  people  who  dwelt  on  his  lands;  and  I 
was  taught  that  I,  too,  was  responsible  for  those  debts, 
and  that  because  of  them  I  could  not  leave  the  employ 
of  my  patron.  I  cared  not,  for  I  was  but  a  boy.  I 
knew  nothing  of  the  world  that  lay  beyond  the  valley 
where  I  was  born;  and  but  for  the  fact  that  a  girl  fell 
into  the  water  of  a  lake,  and  was  rescued  by  me,  I 
think  I  might  yet  be  on  that  hacienda.  And  it  might 
be,  too,  that  I  would  be  a  happier  man  if  that  were 
true. 

"  It  was  rumored  that  I  was  not  the  son  of  the 
man  who  was  called  my  father.  When  my  mother 
was  a  girl,  and  just  before  she  was  taken  to  wife,  a 
young  Don,  whose  name  I  have  never  heard,  paid 
a  visit  to  the  family  of  the  patron.  My  mother  was 
pretty,  and  it  was  said  by  the  old  ones  that  the 
Don  was  my  father.  The  man  remained  on  the 
hacienda  but  a  short  time,  and  his  name  was  not 
learned  by  any  of  the  w^orking  people.  I  know  not 
if  this  tale  be  true  or  false;  for  my  mother  died  when 
I  was  yet  a  boy,  and  she  told  me  nothing  of  the 
matter. 

*'  At  first,  of  course,  I  did  nothing  but  play  in  the 
sand  in  front  of  our  jacal.      Then  they  began  to  send 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  23 

me  to  help  the  boys  with  the  herds;  and,  when  I  had 
grown  older,  I  was  put  in  charge  of  a  flock  of  sheep, 
and  much  of  my  time  was  spent  alone,  away  from  the 
other  people. 

"When  I  was  almost  a  man,  there  came  to  visit 
at  the  hacienda  a  rich  family  from  Ciudad  Aguas 
Calientes.  The  family  was  made  up  of  the  father, 
the  mother,  a  youth  a  year  or  two  younger  than  my- 
self, and  a  Sefiorita  who  was  fourteen  or  fifteen  years 
old.  They  were  great  friends  of  our  patro?iy  and 
much  gayety  was  known  at  the  great  residencia  while 
they  were  there. 

"  One  day  I  returned  with  my  sheep,  put  them 
safely  in  the  corrals,  and  was  walking  alone  by  the  side 
of  the  great  presa,  or  artificial  lake,  in  which  were 
stored  up  the  waters  for  irrigation.  When  I  came  near 
a  little  grove  that  is  on  the  side  of  the  presa  farthest 
from  the  buildings,  I  heard  a  scream.  At  first,  I  knew 
not  what  to  do;  but,  after  standing  like  a  dumb  goat 
for  a  moment,  I  ran  swiftly  to  the  grove,  and  saw  that 
a  young  woman  was  struggling  in  the  water,  and  that 
she  was  very  near  to  death  from  drowning.  It  was 
the  young  Senorita  who  was  visiting  at  the  hacienda. 
Being  alone  in  the  grove,  she  had  taken  off  her  shoes 
to  wade  in  the  water  and  enjoy  its  coolness;  and  she 
had  stepped  off  a  steep  place,  and  gone  beyond  her 
depth. 


24  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


**  I  could  swim  but  little;  but  I  sprang  at  once  into 
the  presay  and  reached  the  girl  just  as  she  was  sinking 
for  the  last  time.  She  clung  to  me,  and  struggled  so 
violently  that  at  first  she  carried  me  into  the  deeper 
water  and  away  from  the  shore.  I  struggled  toward 
the  shore,  although  I  greatly  feared  that  we  would  both 
drown;  but,  just  as  the  last  breath  seemed  leaving  my 
body  and  the  last  strength  going  from  my  limbs,  I 
got  to  where  I  could  touch  the  bottom  with  my  foot. 
This  gave  me  hope;  and  I  struggled  on,  and  in  time 
reached  the  bank.  We  were  both  so  exhausted  that, 
when  we  reached  the  bank,  we  fell  down,  and  lay  like 
two  persons  who  were  dead.  I  recovered  strength 
first,  and  realized  that  the  Sefiorita  was  in  great  danger 
from  the  water  she  had  swallowed.  I  halloed  for 
help,  but  none  came.  Then  I  took  up  the  almost 
lifeless  body  of  the  girl,  placed  her,  face  downward, 
across  a  log,  and  moved  her  backward  and  forward, 
in  spite  of  her  groans,  until  she  was  well.  She  soon 
felt  better;  but  she  was  very  weak,  and  I  ran  to  my 
jacaly  where  I  had  a  bottle  of  mescal  concealed,  got 
it,  returned  to  the  maiden,  and  poured  some  of  it 
down  her  throat.  The  liquor  warmed  her  blood  and 
put  life  into  her,  and  soon  she  sat  up  and  was  almost 
well.  She  wrung  the  water  from  her  clothes,  with 
my  serape  she  dried  her  face  and  hands,  and  then  she 
sat  down  on  the  stump  of  a  tree  and  looked  at  me. 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  25 

**  It  is  the  truth,  Senor,  that  in  all  my  life,  asleep 
or  awake,  I  had  never  seen  or  dreamed  of  any  one  so 
beautiful  as  was  that  girl.  Her  hair  was  soft  and  long, 
and  as  black  as  the  rain-clouds  of  summer.  The  light 
of  the  dawn  had  gotten  into  her  dark  eyes,  and  her 
form  was  as  are  the  forms  seen  in  the  most  beautiful 
pictures  in  the  cathedrals.  She  smiled  upon  me;  she 
took  my  hand  in  hers,  and  kissed  it;  and  she  thanked 
me  for  saving  her  life,  I  remaining  silent  all  the  time, 
for  I  knew  not  what  to  say.  She  then  asked  my 
name.      I  answered:  — 

**  *  My  name  is  Antonio  Salcido.  I  am  of  the 
herdsmen,  and  it  was  by  chance  that  I  passed  here 
and  heard  you  scream.  You  need  not  thank  me,  for 
I  have  done  only  what  a  man  should  do. ' 

'*  She  then  offered  me  her  purse,  which  I  refused 
to  take;  and  I  think  she  saw  in  my  face  that  I  was 
grieved  that  she  should  think  I  would  take  hire  for 
saving  her  life.      She  then  said  to  me:  — 

*'*  Antonio,  my  name  is  Marie  Concepcion  Tre- 
vino.  I  dwell  in  the  city  of  Aguas  Calientes,  and 
with  my  parents  I  am  visiting  at  this  hacienda. 
While  you  are  but  a  pilado,  you  are  in  all  ways  like 
a  gentleman.  You  have  done  me  a  great  service, — 
you  have  saved  my  life, —  and  from  this  time  forth  I 
shall  be  your  friend.      Tell   me,  is   there  anything  I 


26  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

can  do  for  you  ?  My  life  is  full  and  rich,  yours  must 
be  empty  and  poor,  and  there  must  be  something  I 
can  do  to  make  you  happier.      Tell  me  what  it  is. ' 

**  Being  alone  so  much  in  the  desert  with  the  sheep, 
and  spending  my  time  in  thinking  and  dreaming  of 
things  far  removed  from  the  poverty  of  my  life,  caused 
me  to  be  different  in  many  ways  from  the  class  to 
which  I  belonged,  else  I  should  not  have  dared  to  do 
as  I  did.  As  I  gazed  into  her  beautiful  eyes,  I  forgot 
for  a  moment  that  she  was  rich  and  I  was  poor,  that 
she  was  a  lady  and  I  but  a  peon.  I  knew  only  that 
I  was  young  and  she  was  young,  that  I  knew  not  fear, 
and  that  she  was  more  beautiful  than  a  dream.  And 
I  said  to  her:  — 

**  *  Senorita,  in  saving  you  I  have  given  myself 
more  happiness  than  I  ever  knew  before  in  all  the 
years  of  my  life.  I  would  give  my  life  rather  than 
that  you  should  be  injured  in  the  least.  I  desire  no 
reward,  and  would  take  none.  But,  if  you  will,  you 
can  make  me  happier  than  though  you  should  give  me 
all  the  wealth  in  the  world.  You  are  more  beautiful 
than  any  woman  I  shall  ever  see  again  in  this  world 
or  the  next;  and,  if  you  will  let  me  hold  you  in  my 
arms  but  for  an  instant,  and  press  your  lips  in  one 
single  kiss,  I  shall  be  happier  than  though  I  were  a 
saint.' 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY         27 

<*  The  maiden  gazed  upon  me  for  a  moment  with 
a  shy  smile  upon  her  face,  then  a  mist  came  into  her 
eyes,  and  then  she  impulsively  threw  her  arms  about 
my  neck,  and  pressed  upon  my  lips  a  kiss  that  was 
sweeter  than  any  other  kiss  ever  given  to  a  man  by  a 
woman  since  the  world  began.      She  then  said, — 

***This  must  be  kept  as  a  secret  between  us.' 
And,  turning,  she  ran  down  the  path  and  out  of  the 
grove. 

**  I  saw  her  by  stealth  a  few  times,  and  we  grew 
very  fond  of  each  other;  but  soon  she  and  her  family 
returned  to  their  home,  and  I  thought  she  would  soon 
forget  me.  But  the  young  priest  who  dwelt  on  our 
hacienda  came  to  me,  and  said  that  the  young  Senorita 
had  asked  him  to  teach  me;  and  he  began  to  give  me 
instruction.  And  then  I  found  that  my  work  was 
made  easier  for  me,  and  favors  of  many  kinds  were 
shown  me.  The  priest  said  the  young  Senorita  had 
spoken  to  the  patron  about  me.  For  two  years  more 
I  dwelt  on  the  hacienda,  spending  much  of  my  time 
in  study,  but  never  hearing  a  word  from  the  beautiful 
girl  whose  memory  was  in  my  mind  by  night  and  by 
day. 

**  And  then  my  patron  died,  and  I  was  told  that  he 
had  forgiven  me  my  debts  and  that  I  was  free.  A 
few   dollars  were   given  me,    and    I   was   told   that  I 


28  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

might  go  away  if  I  cared  to.  And  I  walked  all  the 
way  to  Aguas  Calientes,  hoping  that,  if  I  dwelt  in  that 
city,  I  might  some  day  see  the  beautiful  Marie. 

*'  I  hired  a  poor  lodging  far  out  on  Calle  Ojo 
Caliente;  and  every  day  I  walked  in  the  plaza  and  on 
the  streets,  hoping  to  see  her  whom  I  sought.  It  was 
not  long  until  my  money  was  all  gone,  and  I  had  to 
seek  employment.  I  had  been  taught  to  braid  the 
rush  mats  used  in  so  many  houses;  and  I  found  em- 
ployment at  this  work,  going  from  house  to  house,  and 
weaving  the  mats  to  fit  the  rooms  where  they  were  to 
be  used.  A  young  man  was  my  partner  in  this  work, 
and  he  knew  all  the  great  houses  in  the  city.  One 
day  he  told  me  we  were  to  go  to  repair  mats  at  the 
house  of  Senor  Trevino;  and  my  heart  almost  burst 
with  joy,  for  I  thought  I  might  then  be  able  to  see 
Marie.  I  knew  the  house,  and  I  had  haunted  its 
outer  walls  so  much  that  I  feared  the  gendarmes  would 
suspect  me  of  trying  to  rob  it;  but  I  had  never  seen 
Marie  even  once. 

**We  went  the  next  day,  and  worked  on  a  mat 
that  was  in  a  big  room  on  the  second  floor.  In  the 
afternoon  my  companion  felt  ill,  and  went  to  his  home; 
and  I  worked  on  alone.  And,  after  I  had  worked  for 
an  hour  or  two,  Marie,  and  an  old  woman  who  was 
her   duenna,    came    into    the    room.      My   head   was 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  29 

bent  low  over  the  mat;  and  I  feared  to  look  up,  for  I 
thought  I  should  faint.  But  tears  came  into  my  eyes, 
and  I  could  not  refrain  from  looking  at  her.  She 
knew  me  at  once,  she  called  out  my  name,  and  then 
she  looked  upon  me  with  love  shining  from  her  won- 
drous eyes. 

**' Marie,'  said  the  duenna,  'what  does  this 
mean  ?  How  is  it  that  you  know  this  man,  and  what 
is  he  to  you  that  you  should  look  so  upon  him  ?  ' 

**  *  It  is  Antonio,  nurse, —  he  of  whom  I  told 
you,'  said  Marie.  *  Now,  if  you  love  me,  and  will 
be  a  good  nurse,  go  and  leave  us  alone.' 

**And  the  duenna,  to  whom  the  slightest  wish  of 
her  mistress  was  law,  went  away  and  left  us  alone. 
Marie  gazed  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  my  fear  left 
me.  Again  I  forgot  that  I  was  poor  and  she  was 
rich.  Again  I  forgot  all  but  that  I  loved  her,  and 
again  I  took  her  in  my  arms.  I  had  suffered  much  in 
longing  for  her,  and  I  wept  as  I  held  her.  And  she 
told  me  that  she  loved  me  as  much  as  I  loved  her. 

**  She  said  her  family  had  gone  away  after  the 
time  of  the  siesta,  and  she  and  the  duenna  were  alone 
in  the  house,  and  we  would  be  safe  until  five  o'clock. 
And  then  we  sat,  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  and 
were  happier  than  people  can  be  but  a  few  times  in 
life.      She  was  as  beautiful  as  a  dream,  as  innocent  as 


30  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

a  babe;  and  she  loved  me  with  all  the  fervor  and 
purity  of  a  first  love.  And,  w^hen  it  seemed  that  only 
an  instant  had  passed,  it  was  time  for  me  to  go. 

**I  went  to  the  house  the  next  day  to  complete  my 
task,  but  I  saw  nothing  of  Marie;  but  a  few  days 
after  an  old  priest  sought  me  at  my  lodging,  and  told 
me  a  friend  of  mine  and  his  had  engaged  him  to  in- 
struct me,  and  that  I  was  not  to  pay  him.  He  taught 
me  English,  he  gave  me  many  books  to  read;  but  I 
could  never  get  him  to  talk  of  the  friend  who  had  sent 
him,  and  whom  I  knew  to  be  Marie. 

*<  One  morning  at  sunrise  I  was  standing  by  the 
western  gate  of  the  garden  of  San  Marcos,  when 
Marie  and  the  duenna  passed  by,  going  to  early  mass. 
They  saw  me,  the  duenna  stepped  forward,  and  for  a 
moment  my  loved  one  lay  in  my  arms.  But  before 
we  had  said  a  dozen  words  I  was  rudely  grasped;  and 
her  brother  stood  before  us,  his  face  writhing  in 
passion. 

**  *  Go  away,'  said  Marie  to  me.  *  Go  away,  and 
do  not  fight  my  brother;    for  he  will  kill  you.' 

**I  turned,  and  went  away;  and  that  afternoon  a 
woman  I  did  not  know  stopped  me  on  the  street  and 
gave  me  a  note.  It  was  from  Marie.  It  said  she 
was  locked  in  her  room  in  disgrace  for  having  been 
seen  in  the  arms   of  a   common  piladoy  and   that  her 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  31 


brother  had  sworn  to  kill  me  on  sight.  She  said  for 
me  to  walk  to  the  old  baths,  below  the  city,  at  sun- 
down, and  I  would  be  met  by  some  one  who  would 
tell  me  what  to  do.  So  I  remained  in  my  room  all 
day,  and  at  sundown  I  walked  to  the  baths.  There 
I  was  met  by  the  duenna,  who  —  hastily,  and  with 
many  looks  up  and  down  the  road  —  told  me  she  had 
intended  to  bring  money  to  me,  but  her  mistress  could 
not  give  it  to  her  without  exciting  suspicion;  and  she 
told  me  to  go  to  the  town  of  Mapimi,  far  to  the  north, 
where  I  should  go  to  a  cantiha  called  the  Cantina  of 
the  Desert,  kept  by  a  man  whose  wife  had  been 
Marie's  first  nurse,  and  who  had  raised  her  until  she 
was  twelve  years  old.  This  nurse  had  married  and 
gone  to  Mapimi,  and  she  would  fall  down  and  wor- 
ship the  devil  himself  if  Marie  Trevino  should  so 
command  her.  The  duenna  said  I  would  find  money 
awaiting  me  with  this  woman,  and  then  I  must  leave 
Mexico,  or  at  any  rate  keep  away  from  Aguas 
Calientes;  and,  when  she  had  given  her  message, 
she  hastened  away  as  though  she  were  pursued  by  evil 
spirits. 

**I  turned  to  walk  back  to  the  city  to  get  my  few 
belongings  before  setting  out  to  Mapimi,  and  on  the 
way  I  met  the  brother  of  Marie  on  horseback.  When 
he  saw  me,  his  face  turned  livid,  and  he  cut  me  across 
the  face  with  his  riding  whip. 


32  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

**  I  had  tried  to  evade  the  man,  but  the  blow  of  his 
whip  was  something  I  would  not  brook.  I  grasped 
him  by  the  leg,  drew  him  from  his  horse,  and  soon  he 
was  lying  breathless  and  senseless  in  the  dust,  while 
his  frightened  horse  raced  back  to  the  city.  I  knew 
the  man  was  only  stunned,  and  not  killed;  but  I  knew 
I  should  be  thrown  into  prison  if  it  were  known  that 
I  had  fought  him.  So,  without  getting  my  belong- 
ings, and  with  but  a  little  money  in  my  pocket,  I 
turned  my  face  to  the  north,  and  set  out  on  the  long 
journey  to  Mapimi  in  the  desert. 

**  I  am  a  prosperous  man  now,  and  know  what  it 
is  to  be  able  to  eat  when  I  hunger  and  to  sleep  at 
night  in  a  bed.  I  am  rich,  too;  but  that  is  a  newer 
thing.  Yet  I  am  assured  by  it  that  the  future  holds 
much  of  luxury  and  comfort  for  me.  But  when  my 
thoughts  turn  back  to  that  terrible  journey  to  Mapimi, 
or  when  I  dream  of  it  at  night,  my  heart  turns  cold, 
and  I  feel  that  death  would  be  welcome  now  if  I 
thought  I  should  have  again  to  face  anything  so 
terrible.  In  all  the  country  north  of  Zacatecas  — 
that  sterile  country  that  is  poor  enough  at  best  — 
there  had  been  a  drought  for  years.  The  land  was 
parched,  the  poor  huts  of  the  peons  were  tumbling 
down  from  dry  decay,  the  grass  was  withered,  and  the 
trees  drooped  and  died.      The  poor  people  drowsily 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY         33 

slept  in  the  sun,  for  there  was  no  work  to  do;  and  the 
naked  and  half-starved  children  were  too  listless  to 
even  play. 

"  I  would  not  beg;  and,  even  if  I  had,  I  would  have 
fared  badly,  for,  while  our  poor  people  are  generous, 
they,  like  all  people,  think  first  of  themselves,  I 
bought  food  with  what  little  money  I  had,  and  then 
I  existed  by  doing  odd  pieces  of  work.  My  food 
was  never  more  than  a  few  tortillas  and  a  handful  of 
beans,  and  often  it  was  nothing.  I  slept  at  night  on 
the  dry  sands,  and  in  the  mornings  I  awoke  and 
staggered  forward  on  my  weary  way.  The  merciless 
sun  would  beat  down  on  me,  and  I  would  be  so  hot 
and  thirsty  that  I  could  hear  my  own  blood  surging 
and  ringing  in  my  ears.  Sometimes  I  could  see  the 
mirages  far  off  by  the  mountains.  Lakes  of  shimmer- 
ing blue  would  spread,  seemingly,  for  miles;  trees 
could  be  seen  growing  upon  the  banks;  and  some- 
times there  would  be  towns  and  ships,  or  green  fields 
with  cattle  and  sheep  feeding  on  the  grass.  Then 
the  mirage  would  fade,  and  again  would  be  the 
deadening  sun  and  the  swirling  eddies  of  hot  sands 
that  beat  into  my  face  and  the  hunger  that  was  gnaw- 
ing my  vitals.  I  grew  thin  and  lean,  my  clothes  wore 
out,  my  sandals  were  but  strips  of  leather  tied  to  my 
feet,  my  hat  had  been  bartered  for  food,  and  my  un- 


34  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


kempt  hair  was  bound  only  in  a  strip  of  old  cloth. 
And  it  was  thus  —  starving,  discouraged,  suffering, 
almost  ready  to  lie  down  on  the  cruel  sands  and  die 
—  that  I  came  to  Mapimi  in  the  desert,  and  found 
there  that  the  power  of  Marie  Trevino's  love  had 
gone  before  me,  and  had  prepared  a  welcome,  and 
food   and   clothes  and   money   and   hope   for  me. 

**A  letter  had  gone  before  me  to  the  wife  of  the 
keeper  of  the  cantina,  and  in  it  was  three  hundred 
dollars  in  money.  I  was  given  food,  clean  and  strong 
clothes  were  bought  for  me,  and  I  was  a  welcome 
guest  in  the  house  of  friends.  I  remained  a  few 
weeks,  resting  and  regaining  strength,  and  talking  to 
men  who  came  down  to  Mapimi  from  the  mines. 
Then  I  went  to  the  mines  myself,  formed  a  partner- 
ship with  a  man  experienced  in  seeking  veins  of 
mineral-bearing  rock,  and  for  two  years  I  remained. 
Then,  my  money  being  nearly  gone,  and  I  suffering 
for  news  of  Marie,  I  left  our  mining  claims  with  my 
partner,  and  made  my  way  to  the  city  of  Aguas 
Calientes. 

**  I  found  that  Marie  and  her  family  were  again  visit- 
ing at  the  old  hacienda  in  the  mountains  that  had  been 
my  home;  and,  as  I  did  not  desire  to  go  there,  I 
walked  across  the  hills  and  valleys  to  Guadalajara, — 
that  fair  city  that  seems  like  a  dream  of  Paradise, — 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY         35 

and  there  I  invested  my  few  remaining  dollars  in 
pottery  work,  and  set  out  as  a  corredoVy  or  pedler.  I 
went  on  foot  at  first,  and  at  night  slept  under  trees  or 
by  hedges.  But  I  thrived,  and  soon  bought  a  burro. 
In  time  I  owned  a  cart,  and  had  spare  money  in  my 
belt.  And  then,  being  well  dressed  and  prosperous, 
I  went  again  to  Aguas  Calientes;  and  this  time  I 
found  Marie. 

**  The  old  priest,  who  was  her  friend,  and  who 
had  befriended  me  and  instructed  me,  was  upon  his 
bed  of  death.  Marie  visited  him  often;  and  after 
meeting  me  in  the  street,  and  leaving  me  after  a  hasty 
word  of  welcome  and  love,  she  told  the  priest  that  I 
was  again  in  that  city,  and  that  she  longed  to  see 
me.  The  priest  was  a  man  who  had  looked  deep  into 
the  hearts  of  people,  and  he  said  to  Marie  that  he 
had  learned  that  love  was  the  only  thing  that  mortals 
ever  knew  that  made  life  bearable  or  worth  living; 
and  he  said  she  might  meet  me  in  his  house,  where 
we  would  be  safe  and  free.  We  met  there,  and 
from  dark  till  the  rising  of  the  sun  we  were  happier 
than  I  ever  hope  to  be  again.  Our  meeting  was 
clandestine,  and  we  knew  that  it  might  be  years 
before  we  should  see  each  other  again.  But  with 
youth's  faculty  for  enjoying,  without  forebodings  of 
the  future,  we  loved,  and  loved,  and  were  happy.      I 


36  ADOBELAND   STORIES 


could  tell  you  of  what  we  said,  and  did,  and  hoped, 
and  prayed,  and  enjoyed;  but  all  people  who  have 
loved  need  not  be  told,  for  they  can  divine  these 
things.  And  when,  in  later  and  unhappy  years,  I 
have  prayed  for  death, —  for  sweet,  peaceful,  un- 
troubled death, —  I  have  prayed  that  at  least  once  in 
the  eternity  of  the  future  of  souls  I  may  know  one 
more  such  blissful  time  as  I  knew  that  night. 

**  Before  we  could  meet  there  again,  the  priest 
died;  and,  as  it  was  not  safe  for  me  to  remain  in  that 
city,  I  went  again  upon  my  journeys  with  my  mules 
and  cart.  I  thought  always  of  Marie.  I  dreamed 
of  her  at  night,  and  in  imagination  I  saw  her  every 
hour  of  the  day;  but  two  years  passed  before  I  heard 
of  her  again.  For,  although  I  loved  her,  I  am  a 
gentleman;  and  I  knew  she  would  be  disgraced  if 
the  secret  of  our  love  should  come  to  her  high-born 
friends  in  Aguas  Calientes,  and  I  did  not  go  there. 

**Then  again  I  went  to  Aguas  Calientes,  and  in 
the  plaza  I  met  Marie's  duenna.  I  spoke  to  her,  she 
knew  me,  and  she  said  that  if  I  would  be  in  the  same 
place  on  the  following  evening,  she  would  come  to  me 
with  a  message.  She  came,  put  a  letter  in  my  hands, 
and  fled  as  though  she  feared  I  was  possessed  of  some 
disease  that  would  contaminate  her.  I  opened  the 
letter  and   held  it  in  my  hand,  looking  at  it  for  a  long 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  i^-j 


rime  before  I  read  it.  I  think  I  felt  much  as  does  a 
soul  when  it  goes  before  the  great  seat  of  judgment. 
The  letter  might  tell  me  that  Marie  sdll  loved  me, 
and  that  she  would  go  away  with  me  from  the  splen- 
dors and  unhappiness  of  her  life,  and  be  happy  with 
me.  I  hoped  this,  too;  for  my  mine  was  earning 
profits,  and  my  business  had  thrived,  and  I  could 
keep  her  in  comfort.  But  it  might  be,  too,  that  the 
letter  would  say  that  she  no  longer  loved  me,  that 
maturer  years  had  brought  better  knowledge,  and  she 
knew  her  love  had  been  but  the  fantasy  of  a  girlish 
fancy.  I  looked  at  the  letter,  wondering  whether 
it  were  a  blessed  messenger  of  joy  or  an  accursed  har- 
binger of  evil.  And  then  I  read  it,  and  found  that  it 
was  neither  and  both. 

**  She  wrote  me  that  she  loved  me  with  a  purer, 
truer,  more  devoted  love  than  she  had  bestowed  upon 
me  before, —  loved  me  so  much  that  she  prayed  for 
me  constantly,  and  pined  me  more  than  she  did  any 
one  in  the  world,  not  excepring  herself, —  that  she 
would  love  me  always,  as  the  Virgin  loves  her  devo- 
tees, as  a  mother  loves  her  babe,  or  as  a  sister  loves 
her  brother;  but  that  she  could  not  love  me  as  sweet- 
hearts love,  or  as  wives  love  their  husbands.  She 
said  that  her  father  was  dead,  that  the  fortunes  of  the 
family  were  ruined,  and  that  she  soon  was  to  be  mar- 


38  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

ried  to  a  man  she  did  not  love  and  could  never  love, 
but  whom  she  respected  and  venerated. 

**And  that  was  all.  And  from  then  until  now  I 
have  had  no  faith  in  women  and  but  little  in  men, 
and  sometimes  my  faith  in  God  has  wavered;  for  I 
had  placed  all  my  trust  and  faith  and  hope  at  that 
woman's  feet,  and  had  believed  in  her,  and  believed 
in  all  good  things  because  of  my  belief  in  her.  Yet, 
with  flimsy  platitudes  and  empty  protestations  of  an 
empty  kind  of  love,  she  had  cast  me  aside.  She  had 
said  I  was  never  to  see  her,  and  I  knew  that  I  could 
go  out  of  her  life  wath  no  more  pain  to  her  than  a 
child  feels  at  casting  aside  a  broken  toy.  And  I 
wandered  up  and  down  the  streets  of  the  city,  striving 
to  make  myself  believe  I  hated  her,  and  finding  that 
I  loved  her  as  much  as  I  did  when  she  had  nestled 
in  my  arms,  pressed  her  lips  to  mine,  and  swore  she 
loved  me  above  her  hopes  for  her  soul's  salvation. 
That  was  the  pity  of  it.  If  I  could  have  hated  her 
it  would  have  been  better  for  me;  but,  in  all  the  years 
that  have  passed  since  then,  I  cannot  learn  to  hate  her 
nor  to  lessen  my  love  for  her  by  one  jot  or  one  iota. 

**  I  no  longer  feared  the  danger  of  disgracing  her, 
and  I  no  longer  moved  in  secrecy.  I  met  her  brother 
in  the  street,  stopped  him,  challenged  him  to  fight 
me  with  knives  or  pistols,  and  was  surprised   that  he 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY         39 

went  from  me,  looking  at  me  with  more  of  an  expres- 
sion of  pity  than  of  fear  or  hatred.  I  met  the  duenna 
again,  and  she  tried  to  avoid  me;  hut  I  grasped  her 
arm  and  made  her  talk.  She  said  but  Httle,  telHng 
me  only  that  the  Senorita  could  not  see  me,  and  that 
she  was  soon  to  wed.  And  then,  being  a  woman, 
she  gave  utterance  to  the  trouble  that  was  nearest  her 
heart,  which  was  that  the  family  fortunes  were  in  such 
ruin  that  her  mistress  could  not  buy  a  wedding  outfit 
suited  to  a  handsome  woman  who  was  to  wed  a  rich 
man,  and  that  pride  forbade  the  fact  being  made 
known  to  the  man. 

**I  was  almost  in  a  frenzy  of  disappointment  and 
desperation  and  thwarted  love;  but  at  the  same  time 
I  felt  sorry  for  the  woman  that  I  so  madly  loved,  and 
I  took  five  hundred  dollars  from  my  belt,  pressed  it  in 
the  hand  of  the  duenna,  and  told  her  to  see  to  it  that 
Marie  was  wed  as  became  a  lady.  I  told  her,  too, 
that  it  was  but  paying  back  a  debt  I  had  owed  ever 
since  I  got  the  money  at  IVIapimi.  And  then  I  rushed 
away  from  the  old  duenna,  who  stood  weeping  in  the 
street. 

**  I  drove  with  my  carts  to  this  town  of  Silao, 
scarcely  trying  to  trade  on  the  way.  And,  when  I 
came  here,  I  became  drunken,  and  shouted  through 
the  streets,  and  fought  men  who  spoke  to  me,  and 


40  ADOBELAND   STORIES 

terrorized  even  the  peace  officers  of  the  place.  And 
then  I  left  my  business  with  hired  men,  and  went  to 
my  mines  in  the  north. 

**Five  years  have  gone  by  since  then,  Senor, — 
five  miserable  years  that  seem  to  me  like  five  hopeless 
eternities.  I  learned  that  Marie  was  wed  to  a  rich 
man  of  Guanajuato,  and  dwells  now  in  a  home  that 
is  like  a  palace,  and  that  she  is  loved  by  all  the  peo- 
ple of  that  city.  Once  each  year  I  send  one  of  my 
men  to  that  city;  and  he  sells  the  wares  of  Guadala- 
jara, and  at  the  same  time  learns  all  he  can  of  Marie 
and  her  husband  and  her  life.  He  can  be  trusted; 
and  he  can  find  out  all  things,  for  the  serving-women 
of  Marie  talk  to  him,  and  they  know  of  her  life. 

**Well,  in  five  years  I  have  found  that  I  cannot 
kill  my  love  for  her.  I  have  learned,  too,  that  she  is 
unhappy,  and  that  there  is  no  love  between  her  and 
her  husband.  Knowing  this  meant  nothing  to  me 
until  I  went  to  Aguas  Calientes  two  years  ago. 
There  I  met  my  old  partner  of  the  mines,  an  old 
man  whose  hair  is  now  gray,  and  whom  I  trust  as 
myself.  When  I  was  last  at  the  mines  they  were 
earning  a  profit;  but,  soon  after  I  left,  a  rich  ledge  of 
quartz  was  found,  and  my  partner  sold  the  mines  to 
some  Americans  for  two  million  Mexican  dollars. 
He  went  to  Aguas  Calientes  to  meet  me  and   tell  me 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY         41 

the  good  news;  and  together  we  went  by  train  to  the 
City  of  Mexico,  where  I  bought  English  exchange 
with  my  money.  When  my  money  was  in  my 
pocket,  I  thought  first  of  going  to  Marie  to  see  if  my 
wealth  would  not  tempt  her  to  fly  with  me  and  leave 
her  unloved  husband.  But  I  conquered  myself,  and 
went  instead  to  the  United  States.  For  two  years  I 
have  been  away  from  Mexico,  journeying  like  one  to 
whom  all  places  are  hateful.  I  have  wandered  from 
New  Orleans  to  San  Francisco,  then  to  New  York, 
then  to  London  and  Paris.  But  all  the  time  my  de- 
sire has  been  with  the  wife  of  a  man  who  is  a  stranger 
to  me,  and  all  the  time  I  have  been  resistlessly  drawn 
toward  her.  At  last  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  My 
wealth  seemed  like  a  hateful  thing  to  me,  the  cities  I 
visited  seemed  Hke  hollow  and  lifeless  places;  and  I 
returned  to  Mexico,  donned  again  my  old  costume, 
because  it  is  an  effectual  disguise,  and,  with  the  men 
who  have  been  in  my  employ  all  the  time  I  was 
away,  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  Guanajuato.  My 
fortune  has  not  been  dissipated.  I  have  it  all  in 
drafts.  The  drafts  are  now  safely  sewed  into  my  belt; 
and  I  am  here  with  my  carts  and  mules  only  because 
as  a  pedler  I  can  more  surely  see  Marie  when  I 
reach  Guanajuato  than  I  could  if  I  went  as  a  rich 
Senor.      When  I  reach  Guanajuato  and  have  seen  her. 


42 


ADOBELAND  STORIES 


no  matter  how  my  visit  results,  I  shall  give  my  carts 
to  my  men,  and  Mexico  shall  know  me  no  more. 

**  Seiior,  I  am  journeying  to  Guanajuato  to  strive  to 
induce  the  Senora  Marie  to  elope  with  me.  I  love 
her  so  much  that  I  am  willing  to  sin  so  much  as  that 
for  the  chance  of  being  happy  with  her.  I  think  she 
has  been  unfaithful  to  me, —  that  she  is  as  a  woman 
who  casts  her  virtue  from  her  ;  for  a  woman  who  is 
false  to  her  plighted  lover  is  but  as  a  harlot,  even 
though  she  be  wedded  and  true  to  her  husband.  I 
have  thought  of  all  these  things.  I  have  tried  to 
bring  before  my  eyes  the  time  that  will  surely  come 
when  my  loathing  for  her  infidelity  will  grow  stronger 
than  my  love,  and  I  shall  come  to  hate  her.  That 
time  will  come;  and,  when  it  does,  I  may  go  insane. 
I  may  kill  her  and  then  kill  myself,  I  may  become  so 
low  that  I  will  keep  on  living  with  her,  drowning  my 
hatred  for  her  faithlessness  in  drink  and  dissipation; 
but  I  pray  that  I  may  yet  be  enough  of  a  man  so  that 
I  shall  then  give  her  my  fortune,  and  go  from  her 
forever.  It  is  not  that  future  time  that  troubles  me, 
though;  for  now  my  love  and  my  longing  and  my 
deferred  hope  are  so  strong  that  I  am  willing  to  have 
her  love  at  any  price,  even  to  the  loss  of  my  self- 
respect. 

**  I  think  she  may  go  with  me,  for  surely  she  loved 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  43 

me  once  ;  and,  while  a  woman's  love  is  but  a  bauble 
compared  with  a  man's,  it  cannot  be  that  all  that  love 
is  gone  from  her  heart.  And  it  may  be,  too,  that  I 
misjudge  her,  that  she  is  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning,  and  that  she  was  forced  into  her  hideous  mar- 
riage to  cover  up  some  dishonor  of  her  father,  who 
died  a  pauper  while  telling  his  family  to  hide  its  pov- 
erty and  not  reveal  it  even  to  Marie's  bridegroom. 
It  must  be  thus;  for  gentle  Marie,  an  angel  in  the 
form  of  a  loving  woman,  could  not  be,  cannot  be,  as 
vile  and  false  as  I  have  thought  she  is.  No,  it  can- 
not be  that  she  is  anything  but  pure  and  good.  And 
she  loves  me.  And  with  her  I  shall  find  the  happi- 
ness that  I  never  knew,  and  together  we  shall  forget 
the  horror  of  the  five  years  that  she  has  been  the  un- 
loved and  unloving  wife  of  a  man  whom  I  hate  above 
all  the  men  in  the  world.  It  must  be  thus,  Senor. 
And  I  am  sorry  that  I  spoke  of  my  doubts  of  her  to 
you;  for  deep  down  in  my  heart  I  know  she  is  the 
purest  and  best  of  women,  and  that  her  seeming  falsity 
is  but  some  hideous  mistake.  Forget,  Sefior,  that 
I  spoke  doubtingly  of  her.  Forgive  me,  too,  for 
telling  you  my  doleful  tale.  I  had  not  meant  to  tell 
you  so  much;  but  the  things  that  are  uppermost  in  my 
heart  came  to  my  tongue,  and  I  have  talked  more 
than  I  intended.      And  now  good-night." 


44  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

I  saw  that  the  man  desired  to  be  alone,  and  I  told 
him  good-night,  and  left  him.  I  might  have  said 
much  to  him,  but  I  felt  that  it  would  all  sound  hollow 
and  meaningless  and  empty  to  him;  and  I  merely- 
pressed  his  hand. 

When  I  reached  the  hotel,  I  turned  and  looked 
back  at  him,  and  saw  him  still  sitting  on  the  bench, 
his  head  hung  in  his  hands.  He  seemed  to  me  the 
living  embodiment  of  a  tragedy.  Fate  had  been 
kind  to  him  in  giving  him  the  things  men  deem  desir- 
able. He  was  rich  and  young  and  intelligent.  He 
might  travel  over  the  world,  and  dwell  in  luxury, 
and  do  the  thing  that  seemed  to  him  the  best  to  do, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  hunger  in  his  heart  for  the  love 
of  a  school-girl  he  had  met  and  known  and  fancied 
when  he  was  but  an  ignorant  boy.  But,  after  all,  the 
words  of  the  old  priest  might  be  true;  and  it  may  be 
that  love  is  the  only  thing  mortals  find  in  their  span 
of  life  that  is  worth  knowing  or  having  or  remember- 
ing. And,  if  that  were  true,  this  Mexican  was  as 
much  to  be  pitied  as  though  he  were  yet  a  peon. 

The  man  had  laid  his  heart  bare  to  me,  and  the 
sight  of  it  was  not  pleasant.  He  loved  the  woman 
with  a  fierce  love  befitting  the  fierce  blood  of  his  race, 
and  doubted  her  as  fiercely;  and  yet  he  strove  to  be- 
lieve in  her,  and  keep  her  memory  pure,  and  to 
believe  that   she  was   not   false  to   him. 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  45 

I  thought  idly  of  how  he  would  fare  on  this 
strange  expedition, —  of  how  the  cultured,  luxurious, 
grand  lady  would  meet  the  roughly  clad  man  with 
whom  she  had  been  indiscreet  when  she  was  young 
and  thoughtless.  I  believed,  of  course,  that  their 
meeting  would  be  short, —  fierce  on  the  man's  side 
and  cold  on  the  woman's.  And  that  she  would 
treat  him  well,  or  even  see  him,  would  be  only 
because  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  disgrace  her  in 
her  husband's  eyes  by  telling  of  the  past.  I  feared 
for  the  woman,  too;  for  the  Mexican  blood  is  hot 
and  savage,  the  man  was  almost  crazed,  and  desperate 
men  are  often  the  embodiments  of  ferocious  fate. 

The  next  morning,  when  we  arose,  we  noticed 
that  the  carts  were  gone.  After  strolling  through 
the  narrow  streets  of  Silao,  we  took  a  train  for 
Guanajuato;  and  again  we  began  the  pleasant  task 
of  exploring  a  Mexican  city.  We  climbed  the  steep 
streets,  through  which  no  wheeled  wagon  could  go. 
We  visited  the  quartel,  where  the  soldiers  and  officers 
acted  as  though  their  sole  mission  in  Hfe  was  to  make 
our  visit  pleasant.  We  climbed  to  the  weird  panteon, 
where  the  mummies  of  citizens  whose  names  are  yet 
remembered  were  pointed  out  to  us  by  a  sexton  who 
seemed  half  ghoul.  We  listened  to  the  music  of  the 
organ  in  the  cathedral,  and  looked  upon  the  misery 


46  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


of  the  prisoners  in  the  ill-starred  Alhondiga,  made 
famous  by  the  inspired  madness  of  Hidalgo.  We 
went  at  night  to  a  quaint  ceremony  in  a  church;  and 
the  next  day  we  again  explored  the  city,  and  talked 
to  its  people,  and  enjoyed  the  strangeness  of  this 
quaintest  and  most  picturesque  city  in  all    Mexico. 

At  twelve  at  night  I  became  restless;  and,  as  the 
plaza  is  just  in  front  of  the  hotel,  I  went  there  to 
smoke  a  cigar  and  walk  off  the  restlessness.  Homeless 
brown  mothers,  with  their  babes  at  their  breasts, 
were  asleep  on  the  benches  in  the  plaza, —  living, 
suffering  evidences  of  centuries  of  Mexican  wrong. 
From  far  up  one  of  the  steep  streets  music  could  be 
heard;  and  the  watchmen,  with  their  lanterns,  were 
seen  at  the  corners.  Sitting  alone  on  a  bench,  under 
the  glare  of  an  electric  light,  I  saw  a  man,  his  head 
bowed  in  his  hands,  and  who  was  a  picture  of  abso- 
lute dejection.  I  wondered  at  first  if  he  were  drunk. 
Then  I  thought  he  might  be  one  who  had  risked  and 
lost  his  all  at  gaming,  and  was  meditating  whether  he 
should  go  to  work  and  begin  his  life  anew,  or  blow 
his  brains  out.  And  then  he  chanced  to  raise  his 
head;  and  I  saw  that  it  was  Antonio  Salcido,  the 
former  peon^  the  millionaire,  the  mad  lover. 

He  saw  me.  At  first  he  turned  his  eyes  away. 
Then   he  spoke  to  me. 


ANTONIO  SALCIDO'S  STORY  47 

"Did  you  find  the  lady?"  I  asked.  I  felt  that 
the  question  was  almost  silly,  but  the  look  of  abject 
misery  in  the  man's  eyes  made  it  impossible  to  say 
anything  sensible  or  sane  or  that  should  be  said. 

*'I  have  seen  her,"  said  Salcido;  and  again  he 
dropped  his  face  into  his  hands. 

"And  —  and  she  refuses  to  go  with  you?"  I 
hazarded.  For,  like  most  people  who  know  part 
of  a  story,  I  was  anxious  to  know  the  sequel,  even 
though  it  tore  the  man's  heart  to  tell  me. 

"Sefior,"  said  the  man,  raising  his  eyes  and  look- 
ing up  into  the  night,  "I  have  seen  the  woman. 
She  is  as  pure  as  an  angel.  She  loves  me  so  much 
that  she  would  die  for  me.  And,  as  I  have  told 
you  so  much  of  my  miserable  story,  I  will  tell  you 
what  more  there  is.  The  young  Don  who  came  to 
the  hacienda  where  I  was  born  was  the  same  man 
who  was  Marie's  father.  He  sinned  with  my 
mother  at  the  hacienda,  and  I  am  his  son.  There- 
fore, Marie  is  my  sister.  When  her  father  lay  on 
his  death-bed,  he  told  her;  and  she  knew  I  was  her 
brother.  It  was  because  of  this  that  I  could  not  see 
her  five  years  ago  in  Aguas  Calientes.  It  was  be- 
cause of  this  that  she  married.  It  was  because  of  this 
that  she  is  almost  as  unhappy  as  I  am.  And, —  and 
the  worst  of  it  is,  friend,  that   death  will    not  come 


48  ADOBELAND   STORIES 

to  those  who  pray  so  much  for  it,  and  whose  only 
hope  is  for  it  and  in  it." 

The  man  relapsed  again  into  silence;  and  I  was 
silent,  too,  for  I  felt  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a 
grief  too  deep  to  be  spoken  of  with  idle  words. 
After  a  time  the  man  again  spoke  to  me.     He  said:  — 

**  I  had  a  lover,  and  wanted  her  for  a  wife.  In- 
stead of  as  a  lover  or  wife,  God  has  given  her  to  me 
as  a  sister.  I  know  not  whether  I  should  forgive 
God  or  ask  God  to  forgive  me." 


Santa  Beatriz 


ONE  autumn  day  an  American  traveller  was 
leisurely  journeying  down  a  small  agricultural 
valley  in  one  of  the  central  states  of  the  great 
Mexican  plateau.  He  had  as  guide  a  Mexican,  who 
had  driven  him  from  a  city  in  a  buckboard  drawn  by 
two  wiry  mules.  He  travelled  slowly,  as  he  had  no 
reason  for  making  haste;  and  each  fresh  scene  was  so 
interesting  that  he  was  loath  to  leave  it. 

The  water  of  acequias  rippled  in  the  stone-walled 
fields,  corn,  beans,  alfalfa,  and  melons  grew  in  odd 
little  plats,  groves  of  orange-trees  lent  color  to  the 
landscape,  and  brown  mountains  rose  skyward  in 
the  farther  distance.  They  passed  haciendas  built 
like  fortresses,  commanding  great  estates,  where  hun- 
dreds of  poor  peons  toiled  like  slaves,  so  that  their 
masters  might  live  in  profligate  splendor.  In  every 
village  and  at  every  hacienda  there  arose  the  cross 
that  indicated  the  chapel,  and  the  driver  reverently 
bared  his  head  to  each  of  them.  Occasionally  a 
man  astride  an  ambling,  sleepy  burro,  or  an  ox-team 
drawing  a  creaking  wooden-wheeled  cart,  would  be 
met;  and  sombreros  were  always  raised  to  the  stranger. 
And  over  all  was  the  matchless  sky  of  Mexico, — 
that  sky  of  perfect  blue,  whose  color  can  be  seen  in  no 
other  place  except  in  a  baby's  eyes. 
49 


50  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


The  day  was  fine,  the  air  delicious,  the  surround- 
ings picturesque;  and  the  traveller  leaned  back  in  his 
seat,  and  enjoyed  himself  to  perfection.  The  driver 
babbled  away  on  simple  themes,  explaining  the  points 
of  interest,  and  recounting  little  anecdotes  of  the  peo- 
ple who  dwelt  in  the  valley.  He  had  been  as  far  to 
the  north  as  San  Antonio.  He  prided  himself  on  his 
English  speech,  and  he  sometimes  spoke  to  the  trav- 
eller in  that  language.  The  driver's  jargon  was  little 
heeded  by  the  traveller,  whose  mind  was  busy,  in  an 
indolent  way,  with  musing  on  the  lot  and  the  life  of 
the  people  in  whose  land  he  was  a  sojourner.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  ceaseless  rush  for  wealth  and 
the  greed  for  place  that  prevailed  in  his  own  country, 
and  which  engrossed  him  as  it  did  his  fellows,  was  a 
species  of  madness;  that  the  better  way  for  life  to  be 
spent  would  be  to  have  a  cot  and  a  little  field  in  this 
fair  valley,  where  the  sky  was  always  blue  and  the 
air  always  fresh,  and  where  the  songs  of  the  birds 
could  always  be  heard  coming  from  the  hedges  and 
groves. 

As  the  afternoon  sun  was  dipping  toward  the  range 
of  jagged  hills,  the  travellers  came  to  an  hacienda  that 
was  much  larger  and  more  pretentious  than  any  they 
had  seen  in  the  valley.  The  **  residencia  "  was  of  two 
stories,  was  built  around  a  patio,  and  was  large  enough 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  51 

to  have  given  shelter  to  a  regiment  of  men.  Groves 
of  oranges,  prickly  pears,  and  thunder-trees  surrounded 
it;  and  the  tops  of  some  towering  cottonwoods  could 
be  seen  above  its  walls.  Joined  to  the  residence  was 
a  great  building,  also  built  around  a  patio,  with  walls 
slit  in  a  hundred  places  with  portholes  for  rifles,  and 
with  a  sentry-box  at  each  corner.  The  windows  of 
both  buildings  were  barred  with  iron,  and  the  great 
gate  that  was  the  means  of  entrance  was  closed  and 
locked.  Instead  of  the  miserable  hamlet  o^jacals  that 
usually  flanks  the  great  buildings  of  an  hacienda,  there 
were  but  a  few  cottages;  and  they  were  embowered  in 
vines  and  surrounded  by  trees  and  blooming  roses. 
At  a  little  distance  were  some  large  corrals;  and  sur- 
rounding all  the  buildings  were  numerous  fields,  all 
larger  and  better  tilled  than  any  the  travellers  had  seen 
on  their  journey,  and  each  containing  a  well-built 
little  house.  The  traveller  noticed  that  a  cross  sur- 
mounted the  gateway  to  the  residencia,  and  that  a 
much  larger  cross  arose  from  within  the  enclosure. 
The  place,  however,  seemed  deserted.  No  men 
were  at  work,  and  no  sign  of  life  came  from  the  great 
buildings.  The  traveller  supposed  it  to  be  the 
hacienda  of  some  rich  patron,  to  whom  many  or  all 
of  the  poorer  residents  of  the  valley  were  peoned.  He 
noticed,  too,  with  some  surprise,  that  songs  came  from 


52  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

the  laborers  in  the  fields,  and  that  the  few  men  he  had 
met  near  the  place  seemed  to  have  happy  faces,  and 
did  not  wear  the  look  of  patient  misery  and  hopeless 
resignation  that  is  seen  upon  the  faces  of  the  down- 
trodden millions  of  Mexican  laborers. 

**  Whose  house  is  this,  Sanchez?  "  he  asked  of  his 
guide. 

**  I  do  not  know,"  stammered  Sanchez,  looking 
steadfastly  away  from  his  companion. 

**  Why  is  it  that  you  do  not  know  this  place,  when 
you  know  every  hacienda  and  jacaly  every  man  and 
woman,  in  the  valley  ?  Come,  tell  me  whose  ha- 
cienda this  is." 

Sanchez  was  making  heroic  efforts  to  whip  his  lazy 
mules  into  a  brisker  trot  and  leave  the  place;  but  his 
guest  took  the  lines,  and  stopped  the  team.  Sanchez 
then  explained  that  it  was  not  good  for  them  to  re- 
main there,  that  strangers  were  not  liked,  that  there 
might  even  be  danger. 

**  Danger  of  what?"  asked  the  impatient  traveller. 
"Is  this  place  a  prison,  or  a  convent,  or  an  insane 
asylum  ? ' ' 

**It  —  it  is  private, —  very,  very  private,"  stut- 
tered the  driver.  **The  people  who  dwell  here  do 
not  like  visitors.  Travellers  hasten  always  by  this 
place,  and  it  is  better  that  they  should.      We   must 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  53 

go."  And  he  hit  the  patient  mules  resounding 
whacks  with  his  braided  whip. 

Just  then  the  big  gate  of  the  place  swung  open,  and 
two  tall  Mexicans  took  their  stand  at  either  side  of  the 
entrance.  They  looked  straight  ahead  of  them,  seem- 
ing not  to  see  the  two  men  in  the  buckboard. 

**We  must  go!  We  must  go!"  said  Sanchez, 
nervously  trying  to  take  the  lines  from  his  companion. 

<*  Why  must  we  go  ?  What  harm  are  we  doing 
here  ?  Unless  you  give  me  some  good  reason  for 
your  foolish  fright,  I  shall  stay  here  all  the  afternoon, 
and  then  try  to  secure  lodging  at  this  place  for  the 
night. ' ' 

**  No,  Senor,  no!  Believe  me,  it  is  not  well  that 
we  tarry  here.  We  must  go  from  here  instantly. 
It  is  forbid  that  strangers  tarry  here." 

**  Forbid  by  whom  ?  Why  must  we  go  unless  we 
want  to  ?  " 

The  face  of  the  carretaro  writhed.  He  made 
spasmodic  clutches  at  the  lines,  which  his  companion 
held  in  a  firm  grasp;   and  finally  he  said  :  — 

**This  is  the  house  of  the  Santa  Beatriz.  It  is  the 
hour  when  she  goes  forth  to  walk  in  the  air.  You 
are  not  known  to  Santa  Beatriz.  You  are  a  stranger, 
and  you  have  not  faith.  It  is  not  allowed  that  the 
unfaithful  look  upon  her  face. ' ' 


54  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

At  this  juncture  a  man,  dressed  in  solemn  black, 
and  bearing  a  staff  of  hickory  wood,  walked  out  from 
the  gateway,  and,  waving  his  billet  toward  the  buck- 
board,  said  the  single  sententious  word,  **  Vamos!'*'^ 

The  terror  of  the  driver  increased.  He  seemed 
half-minded  to  throttle  the  foolish  traveller,  take  the 
lines  from  his  grasp  by  sheer  force,  and  hasten  away. 

But  the  American,  thinking  he  was  upon  the  track 
of  a  mystery,  would  not  have  moved  if  he  had  been 
commanded  by  half  the  soldiers  in  Mexico. 

The  man  with  the  staff  stood  stock-still,  surprised 
that  his  command  had  not  been  obeyed;  but  before  he 
could  repeat  it  there  emerged  from  the  gateway  a 
young  girl,  followed  by  a  wrinkled  old  duenna. 
The  man  with  the  staff  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed 
reverently,  for  the  instant  utterly  ignoring  the  men  in 
the  buckboard.  The  two  men  at  the  gate  also  bowed, 
and  then  followed  the  women,  keeping  at  a  respectful 
distance  behind,  and  occasionally  casting  malignant 
glances  at  the  intruding  strangers. 

The  young  woman  who  emerged  from  the  great 
gateway  caused  the  traveller  to  stare  in  astonishment. 
She  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman 
he  had  ever  seen,  and  he  had  a  strange  feeling  that 
he  knew  her  or  had  once  known  her.  She  was  of 
medium  height.      Her  figure,   as  it   was  disclosed  by 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  55 

her  loose  silken  gown,  was  perfect  in  its  proportions; 
and  her  eyes  were  of  that  marvellous  shade  of  black 
that  poets  dream  of  and  can  never  find  words  to 
describe.  Her  hair  was  long  and  silken  and  black, 
and  fell  over  her  fair  brow  in  a  pretty  confusion. 
Her  complexion  was  as  clear  as  a  rose  petal,  and  she 
walked  with  the  Hssorne  elasticity  of  perfect  health. 
She  was  clad  in  a  loose  white  robe,  with  short 
sleeves.  On  her  head  was  a  white  lace  mantilla,  and 
diamonds  glistened  on  her  arms,  wrists,  and  fingers. 
She  walked  a  few  paces  with  her  eyes  cast  upon  the 
ground  in  what  seemed  pleasant  thought,  for  she 
smiled  slightly.  Then  she  looked  about  her,  and  her 
gaze  fell  upon  the  two  men  in  the  buckboard.  She 
cast  her  hand  to  her  face  in  a  pretty  gesture  of  sur- 
prise, then  approached  the  wagon  and  saluted  the 
strangers  in  Spanish,  with  a  voice  whose  accents 
seemed  sweeter  to  the  traveller  than  any  he  had  ever 
heard  before.  The  driver  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed 
as  though  he  were  in  the  presence  of  the  Holy 
Mother;  and  the  traveller  gravely  bowed,  but  made 
no  reply,  as  for  the  moment  he  was  too  much  em- 
barrassed and  impressed  to  speak. 

The  old  duenna  clutched  nervously  at  the  sleeve 
of  the  girl,  striving  to  have  her  ignore  the  trespassers 
and     go    with     her.      The     three      Mexicans,     who 


56  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

seemed  to  be  the  girl's  guard,  huddled  close  to- 
gether, tightly  gripping  their  staffs,  and  evidently 
only  awaiting  a  word  of  command  before  springing 
upon  the  strangers  and  driving  them  away.  The 
Senorita  continued  to  smile  upon  the  stranger,  and 
paid  no  heed  to  her  companions.  Sanchez,  the 
driver,  seemed  greatly  frightened,  and  began  be- 
laboring the  mules,  and  trying  to  take  the  lines  from 
his  companion. 

**  Sanchez,  you  dolt,  be  quiet!  The  Senorita  will 
think  that  we  are  both  half-witted,"  said  the  traveller, 
in  English. 

The  terrified  driver  had  no  chance  to  reply,  for 
the  young  lady  instantly  said:  — 

**  So  it  is  the  English  tongue  that  you  speak, 
Senor?  I  speak  in  the  English  the  same  as  though 
I  had  been  born  to  a  mother  of  that  blood;  and  I 
have  known  how  to  speak  it  ever  since  I  can  remem- 
ber,—  so  long  that  it  seems  to  me  I  was  born  with 
the  knowledge  of  that  language  in  my  brain.  But 
you  are  the  first  English-speaking  man  I  have  ever 
seen,  except  my  teachers,  who  were  Mexicans  and 
Spaniards.      Is  it  not  strange?  " 

The  traveller  was  at  a  loss  how  to  answer  this 
beautiful  vision  that  addressed  him  so  familiarly.  He 
had   seen   no   such   woman  in   Mexico,  and   he  felt  a 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  57 

shyness  and  hesitation  that  were  new  to  him.  Finally 
he  awkwardly   said:  — 

'*  I  am  pleased,  Senorita,  to  find  one  in  a  strange 
land  who  speaks  so  well  the  language  of  my  own 
country.  I  am  a  traveller  journeying  in  Mexico  for 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  country  and  its  people." 

The  girl  looked  closely  at  him  for  a  moment. 
Her  expression  changed;  and,  turning  to  her  com- 
panion, she   said  rapturously,  in  EngHsh:  — 

**It  is  he,  duenna!  It  is  the  man!  It  is  he  for 
whose  appearance  I  have  so  long  waited,  and  whose 
coming  I  have  foretold  to  my  people  for  so  many 
years.  Smile  and  look  glad,  and  rejoice  with  me; 
for  this  is   the   happiest  meeting  in  all  my  life ! ' ' 

The  duenna  gave  no  answer  to  her  charge,  but, 
addressing  the  stranger,   said:  — 

**  There  are  many  things,  Senor,  that  we  cannot 
explain  to  you;  and  it  may  be  that  you  do  not  care 
for  explanations.  But,  if  you  will  go  on  your  way, 
and  forget  this  hacienda  and  the  people  you  have 
seen  here,  it  may  be  that  you  will  be  happier  for 
having  done   so." 

''Silence!"  said  the  girl.  **If  you  say  one 
word  more  to  the  stranger  to-day,  I  will  believe 
that  you  do  not  love  me.  Do  you  have  so  little 
faith  that   you  think  I  can  be  mistaken?" 


58  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

"  You  may  not  be  mistaken;  but,  even  if  you  are 
not,  I  think  it  better  for  the  stranger  to  go  his  way,*' 
said   the  duenna,  quietly. 

The  girl  did  not  answer  her;  but  turning  to  the 
traveller  with  a  radiant  smile,  she  said:  — 

**  You  have  come  from  afar.  You  have  journeved 
through  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  along  roads  that 
are  cheerless  and  devoid  of  beauty.  You  have  had 
no  companions  save  fools  and  those  of  dull  under- 
standing. But  at  the  end  of  your  journey  you  have 
found  me;  and  I  will  cause  you  to  be  so  happy  that 
you  will  forget  the  fatigues  and  weariness  you  knew 
while  coming  to  me.  Now  alight,  come  within, 
and  you  and  I  will  forget  that  anything  but  peace 
and  joy  has  a  place  in  the  lives  of  mortals." 

As  though  to  assist  him  to  alight,  she  held  her  soft 
hand  up  to  him.  He  took  the  hand  mechanically, 
but  sat  still  upon  the  buckboard  seat. 

**You  may  kiss  it,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  her 
hand. 

The  traveller  kissed  her  hand,  his  instinctive  ad- 
miration for  her  lending  grace  to  the  act. 

**Now  alight,  and  come." 

The  man  alighted  from  the  wagon,  forgetting  to 
give  any  directions  to  his  driver,  and  with  the  girl 
walked  toward  the  gate  of  the  house.  As  they  went, 
she  smiled  into  his  face,  and  said:  — 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  59 

*<  Look  around  you,  and  see  the  beauties  of  the 
place  to  which  you  have  journeyed  in  order  that 
you  might  be  with  me.  See  the  haze  that  hovers 
over  the  mountains  in  the  far  distance.  Look  upon 
the  stretches  of  mesa  lands  that  rise  from  the  valleys 
and  extend  as  far  as  our  eyesight  can  carry.  And  in 
the  valley  see  the  peaceful  homes,  the  fertile  fields, 
the  granaries  bursting  with  riches,  and  the  contented 
people  as  they  go  about  their  toils  with  hght  hearts 
and  happy  faces  and  with  songs  upon  their  lips. 
Have  you  ever  in  all  your  life  seen  so  fair  a  land  as  is 
this  one  which  is  my  home?" 

''Never  in  all  my  life,"  said  the  traveller,  fer- 
vently. '*And  never  have  I  seen  so  fair  a  face  as 
yours,  nor  received  so  royal  a  welcome  from  a 
stranger. ' ' 

**  But  we  are  not  strangers,  you  and  I,"  replied 
the  girl. 

They  passed  into  the  arched  gateway,  the  attend- 
ants baring  their  heads  as  they  passed  the  cross;  and, 
when  they  were  within,  the  stranger  gasped  with  as- 
tonishment at  the  scene  of  beauty  before  him.  The 
patio  was  large,  containing  almost  an  acre  of  land;  and 
the  portals  of  the  house  faced  upon  it  from  all  sides. 
Trees  and  beds  of  flowers  and  climbing  vines  grew 
all  about,  and  the  patio  was  carpeted  with  a  well-kept 


6o  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

lawn.  Fountains  played  in  various  parts  of  the  en- 
closure, and  at  intervals  there  were  statues  of  the 
finest  marble.  Mosaic  walks  of  many-colored  stones 
crossed  the  enclosure;  and  divans,  easy-chairs,  and 
couches  were  upon  the  verandas.  Quiet  servants 
passed  silently  from  door  to  door  about  their  work, 
and  some  blooded  dogs  were  lying  asleep  in  the  shade. 

**This  is  my  park,"  said  Beatriz.  **  Under  the 
shade  o^  tht  portales  I  read  and  dream;  and,  now  that 
you  are  with  me,  this  place  will  be  dearer  to  me  than 
it  ever  was  before. ' ' 

The  stranger  wondered  what  sort  of  woman  this 
was.  At  first  he  had  thought  that  she  was  some 
heiress,  and  this  her  ancestral  home,  where  she  ruled 
with  almost  the  power  of  old  feudal  times,  as  such 
things  are  not  unknown  in  the  interior  of  Mexico. 
Then  the  thought  came  to  him  that  she  might  be 
demented,  for  her  actions  and  speech  seemed  to  go 
almost  to  the  limits  of  sanity.  Then  he  remembered 
of  having  heard  of  women  dwelling  in  remote  regions 
of  Mexico,  who  are  believed  by  the  ignorant  peas- 
antry to  be  endowed  with  holy  powers,  and  who  are 
worshipped  as  saints;  and,  as  this  woman  was  called 
Santa  Beatriz,  he  concluded  that  she  was  one  of 
these.  But  the  magnetism  of  her  presence  took  such 
hold  upon  him  that  he  did  not  give  much  time  to  idle 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  6i 

speculation,  allowing  himself  instead  to  enjoy  the 
happy  present  and  wait  for  explanations  to  come 
when  the  time  was  ripe  for  them.  So  he  walked 
across  the  patio  with  the  girl,  smiling  when  she 
smiled,  saying  to  himself  that  already  he  believed  he 
loved  this  girl  more  than  he  had  ever  believed  it  possi- 
ble to  love  a  woman,  and  wondering  at  the  strange 
feeling  he  had  of  having  known  her  long  and  well  at 
some  time  in  the  past. 

Beatriz  led  the  way  across  the  patio,  under  the 
wide  veranda,  through  a  cool  wide  hall,  into  the  in- 
terior of  the  house.  First  they  entered  a  room  the 
walls  of  which  were  dead  white,  which  had  but  one 
small  window  set  high  in  the  wall,  and  which  was 
but  scantily  furnished  for  so  large  a  room.  A  white 
carpet  was  upon  the  floor;  and  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  was  a  pallet,  or  couch,  that  had  raised  sides, 
which  gave  only  enough  room  for  one  person  to  lie 
between  them.  It  seemed  like  a  cradle  upon  the  legs 
of  a  bed.  By  the  side  of  this  couch  was  a  small 
white  table,  upon  which  was  a  small  bell,  a  pitcher 
and  glass,  and  a  plate  of  fruit.  At  one  side  of  the 
room  was  an  opening  into  another  room,  or  hall;  and 
this  opening  was  closely  checkered  with  strong  iron 
bars,  while  behind  the  bars  were  a  large  easy-chair  and 
a  footstool,  both  upholstered  in  white  silk. 


62  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


"This  is  the  room  of  the  light,"  said  Beatriz, 
simply,  as  they  passed  through  it. 

They  entered  an  adjoining  room,  as  superbly  fur- 
nished as  any  Parisian  boudoir,  which  the  girl  said  was 
her  sleeping-room.  They  then  went  again  through 
the  white  room  into  the  one  opening  into  it  from  the 
opposite  side;  and  the  girl,  with  a  slight  bow  and  a 
smile,  said:  — 

**  This  is  your  room.  You  see  I  shall  have  you 
near  me  all  the  time.  When  I  am  seeking  the  light, 
you  can  leave  your  door  ajar,  and  see  that  all  is  well 
with  me;  and,  when  I  have  found  the  light  and  am 
tired,  here  you  and  I  can  have  our  lunches  served, 
and  I  can  talk  to  you  and  look  upon  you  while  you 
rest  and  smoke.      Is  it  not  a  pretty  room? " 

It  was,  indeed.  It  was  of  great  size.  The  carpets 
were  so  soft  that  the  feet  sank  within  them,  fine  pict- 
ures were  upon  the  walls,  a  book-case  was  in  a  corner, 
there  was  a  writing-desk,  and  a  sideboard,  upon  which 
were  decanters,  ash-trays,  and  cigars.  It  was  a 
veritable  bachelor's  snuggery,  with  big  easy-chairs, 
and  footstools  and  divans,  as  well  as  all  manner  of 
little  comforts  dear  to  the  masculine  heart.  An  elec- 
tric button  was  in  the  wall,  which  the  girl  pressed, 
and  a  servant  appeared. 

**  Wait  upon  the  stranger.      He  has   travelled  far. 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  63 

and  is  dust-stained  and  weary.  Bathe  him,  and  bring 
him  slippers  and  a  loose  gown,"  said  the  woman. 
**  I  will  go  now;  but,  when  you  are  refreshed,  I  will 
come  again,  and  we  shall  eat  together."  And,  with  a 
graceful  courtesy,  she  left  the  room. 

The  servant  was  a  trained  valet;  and  he  assisted 
the  man  in  making  a  fresh  toilet,  and  brought  him 
slippers  and  a  light  dressing-gown.  The  traveller 
tried  to  gain  some  information  concerning  his  strange 
hostess  from  the  servant,  but  the  man  would  say  no 
word.  Soon  a  woman  came,  and  announced  that 
**  Our  lady  awaits  the  stranger";  and  he  was  con- 
ducted to  a  cool  place  on  the  veranda,  where  a  lunch 
of  fruits  and  wines  was  served,  and  where  his  beauti- 
ful hostess  awaited  him.  During  the  meal  she  talked 
to  him  as  though  she  had  known  him  for  years, —  as 
though  he  were,  indeed,  her  lover  returned  to  her 
from  a  long  absence;  and  the  stranger  forgot  his  re- 
serve, and  felt  as  though  he  had  known  her  forever. 
After  the  luncheon  she  gave  him  a  fragrant  cigar,  and 
smiled  upon  him  as  he  smoked. 

**Tell  me  of  yourself,"  said  he,  as  he  leaned  back 
in  his  luxurious  chair,  and  gazed  into  the  sweet  face  by 
his  side.  **  Who  are  you,  from  whence  did  you 
come  to  this  place,  and  why  is  it  the  people  here 
seem   to  worship   you,    and   obey  your  slightest  com- 


64  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

mand,   and  pay   you   homage  as   though   you   were   a 
queen  ?  " 

•*I  see  I  have  much  to  teach  you,"  said  the  girl, 
smiling.  **  I  thought  it  might  be  that  you,  too, 
knew  the  secret  of  finding  the  light,  and  knew  of  me 
before  you  came.  But  in  time  I  can  make  all  those 
things  known  to  you.  Now  to  tell  you  of  myself. 
I  am  Santa  Beatriz,  saint  by  inspiration,  to  whom  all 
things  are  made  clear.  I  was  born  in  this  house 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  the  blood  in  my  veins  is 
Spanish  blood.  My  mother  was  gifted  in  a  degree 
with  what  is  known  as  second  sight  ;  and  my  father 
was  a  devout  man  of  much  learning,  who  was  known 
to  all  the  great  priests  of  Mexico.  My  mother  died 
in  giving  me  birth;  and  my  father  died  ten  years  ago, 
leaving  me  rich  and  with  many  fields  and  servants. 
I  grieved  much  for  my  father;  and  then  there  came 
a  time  in  my  life  when  people  said  that  I  was  crazed. 
For  hours  and  sometimes  days  I  would  lie  uncon- 
scious to  all  about  me.  But  at  those  times  my  soul 
was  far  away,  and  I  was  seeing  stranger  things  than 
have  ever  before  been  seen  by  a  woman.  I  found  I 
could  travel  to  the  ends  of  the  world,  could  see  the 
secrets  hidden  within  the  breast  of  the  earth  and 
under  the  waters  of  the  ocean,  and  could  know  things 
that  it  was  not  given  to  others  to  know.      I  have  mem- 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  65 

ory  of  other  lives  that  I  have  lived,  and  also  visions 
of  lives  yet  to  come.  Of  these  things  the  world 
knows  but  little.  In  India  and  Thibet  are  many 
men,  although  but  few  women,  who  have  the  powers 
and  knowledge  that  have  been  given  to  me.  Scien- 
tists are  groping  for  some  of  the  truths  that  I  know 
without  learning.  They  talk  and  write  of  the  nous, 
of  the  subjective  mind  and  subjective  soul,  of  the 
astral  body  and  soul  memory;  but  to  me  all  these 
things  are  as  open  books,  and  parts  of  myself  and  of 
my  life.  I  am  commanded  to  live  out  my  life  in  this 
valley.  To  the  simple  people  here  I  am  as  a  guide 
and  protector,  and  it  is  decreed  that  they  shall  wor- 
ship me  and  obey  me.  There  are  a  few  other  such 
as  I.  Have  you  not  heard  of  Santa  Teresa,  of  So- 
nora  ?  I  am  happy  here  in  this  beautiful  valley,  and 
my  people  are  happy.  .Every  night,  for  two  hours 
after  midnight,  I  lie  on  that  couch;  and  my  soul  goes 
away,  and  learns  of  all  the  knowledge  that  is  known  in 
the  world.  And  at  all  times  I  can  close  my  eyes  and 
learn  what  is  good  for  my  people.  I  cannot  tell  you 
of  the  joy  I  obtain  from  these  experiences.  It  is  a 
joy  greater  than  any  happiness  known  to  mortals.  I 
lie  back  in  my  chair  and  close  my  eyes,  and  at  once 
the  atmospheric  waves  begin  to  disclose  themselves  in 
the    direction    of    my    wish.      First    the    shimmering 


ee  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

waves  are  red,  then  purple,  then  blue;  and,  as  they 
change  in  color,  they  extend  in  length,  until  soon  I 
can  see  to  the  end  of  the  world.  I  can  look  across 
the  ocean,  under  the  mountains,  down  into  the  very 
centre  of  the  earth;  and  all  the  time  my  body  is  here, 
rigid  and  cold  in  the  soul  sleep.  At  other  times  I 
can  leave  my  body,  and  go  like  a  bird  across  space. 
I  rise  upon  the  waves  of  the  atmosphere,  which  at 
such  times  are  tangible  and  visible  things  to  me.  I 
look  down  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  see  lights 
shining  from  the  windows  of  houses,  smoke  ascending 
from  chimneys,  and  the  tall  trees  raising  their  tops 
toward  the  moon.  I  meet  other  soul  people;  and  we 
talk  of  the  destiny  of  mankind,  the  secrets  of  happi- 
ness, of  the  infinity  of  the  future. 

**  But  my  physical  body  always  is  here.  Once 
each  day  I  walk  forth  with  my  duenna  and  my  guards, 
and  once  each  day  I  sit  in  the  chair  before  the  grated 
door  and  give  advice  and  tell  of  my  visions  to  my 
people.  I  have  but  one  sorrow.  As  I  learn  new 
things,  I  forget  many  that  are  old.  Many  friends 
that  were  known  to  me  in  other  lives  are  now  for- 
gotten, and  I  feel  always  that  I  may  forget  the  faces 
of  even  those  who  are  with  me  through  all  the  days 
of  my  life.  I  have  known  that  you  were  to  come  to 
me, —  you  who  knew  me  and  loved  me  in  other  lives 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  e-j 

long  centuries  ago.  This  has  brought  me  the  greatest 
happiness  I  shall  ever  know,  yet  this  happiness  is 
tinged  with  sorrow;  for  I  am  haunted  by  the  fear  that 
the  memory  of  you  may  go  from  my  mind,  and  that 
I  may  not  remember  you  again  while  I  live.  But 
just  now  I  will  not  think  of  that,  and  will  enjoy  my 
happiness  while  I  may.  Now  give  me  your  hand; 
and  I  will  prove  to  you  that  I  am  sane,  and  that  there 
is  nothing  hidden  from  me." 

She  took  his  hand  in  her  soft  grasp,  and  read  to  him 
all  the  details  of  his  past  life  as  though  it  had  been 
written  in  a  book  which  lay  open  before  her  gaze. 
She  told  of  the  time  and  place  of  his  birth,  of  little 
occurrences  of  his  childhood  which  had  long  been  for- 
gotten by  him,  of  the  struggles  of  his  youth  and  the 
successes  that  had  crowned  his  manhood.  She  told 
him  of  all  the  secret  longings  of  his  heart,  and  of  the 
hidden  motives  that  ruled  his  life.  When  she  had 
finished,  he  had  not  one  secret  that  she  did  not  know, 
not  one  aspiration  that  she  had  not  divined,  not  one 
hope  that  was  hidden  from  her.  Then  she  placed 
her  soft  arms  about  his  neck,  imprinted  upon  his  lips  a 
kiss,  the  memory  of  which  will  remain  with  him  until 
his  dying  day,  and  told  him  that  she  loved  him. 

All  restraint  had  gone  from  the  man,  all  sense  of 
the  strangeness  of  the  situation,   all    memory   of  the 


68  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


past,  and  all  thought  of  the  future.  He  was  in  love. 
The  woman  of  his  choice,  the  bright,  glorious 
woman  of  his  dreams,  was  in  his  arms;  and  he 
pressed  kisses  upon  her  lips,  he  talked  to  her  of  his 
happiness,  and  he  knew  more  joy  in  one  short  hour 
than  had  ever  been  known  to  him  in  all  the  long  years 
of  his  life  that  had  gone  before. 

The  evening  passed  like  a  dream.  They  walked 
in  the  cool  shade  of  the  patio.  They  talked  of  many 
things  a  little,  and  a  great  deal  of  one  thing.  They 
wandered  about,  hand  in  hand,  like  two  children. 
They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  smiled,  and 
they  sang  for  the  sheer  joy  of  living  and  loving. 
When  the  sun  began  to  sink  behind  the  mountains 
in  the  west  and  send  long  shadows  across  the  mesas  to 
envelop  the  great  ^asa,  they  went  within  doors  and 
dined  together,  sitting  facing  each  other  at  a  little 
table,  and  paying  no  heed  to  the  silent  servants  who 
waited  upon  them.  Then  she  played  upon  a  harp, 
and  sang  to  him, —  played  the  sweetest,  wildest, 
weirdest,  most  entrancing  melodies  that  he  had  ever 
heard,  and  yet  which  seemed  strangely  familiar  to 
him.  They  talked  of  the  future,  of  the  days  and 
months  and  years  that  they  should  know  each  other 
and  love  each  other  upon  the  earth,  and  of  the  love 
for  each  other  that  they  should  know  in  other  worlds. 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  69 

sons  of  ages  in  the  future,  when  their  short  spans  of 
life  should  be  but  half- forgotten  fractions  of  time  com- 
pared to  the  eternity  of  their  love. 

A  little  before  midnight  a  maid  came;  and  the  girl 
went  with  her  to  another  room,  soon  returning  clad 
onlv  in  a  loose  white  robe.  With  the  lover  and  her 
maid  she  went  to  the  white  room;  and,  after  imprint- 
ing another  kiss  upon  her  lover's  lips,  she  lay  down 
upon  the  bier-like  couch,  and  was  instantly  asleep. 
The  old  duenna  silently  entered  the  room,  sat  down 
by  the  couch,  and  gazed  intently  at  her  mistress. 
The  man  stood  in  awe  for  a  time,  and  then  ventured 
to  approach  the  couch  and  touch  the  brow  of  his 
sweetheart.  Her  brow  was  as  cold  as  ice,  and  felt  as 
feels  the  flesh  of  the  dead.  He  took  her  hand  in  his. 
It  was  rigid,  and  seemed  to  be  bloodless.  He  grew 
afraid,  and  asked  the  duenna,  in  a  trembling  voice,  ir 
there  was  not  danger.  The  woman  only  shook  her 
head,  and  made  no  reply.  Thus  the  man  passed  two 
miserable  hours.  He  stood  most  of  the  time  gazing 
upon  the  white,  rigid  face  of  the  woman  who  was 
dearer  than  life  to  him,  and  whose  smile  he  valued 
more  than  all  else  he  had  gained  in  the  world.  He 
walked  at  intervals  in  the  silent  patio,  and  gazed  up  at 
the  stars,  wondering  sometimes  if  he  were  awake  and 
sane,  or  asleep  and  demented. 


70  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

At  two  o'clock  a  little  marble  clock  chimed  out  the 
hour;  and  the  girl  opened  her  eyes,  sat  up,  looked 
around  in  a  dazed  way  for  a  moment,  and  then  smiled 
as  her  gaze  fell  upon  the  man. 

**Help  me,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
him. 

He  assisted  her  from  the  couch,  led  her  to  her  own 
room,  and  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  as  a 
mother  might  kiss  a  loved  babe  who  had  come  back  to 
her  from  the  grave.  He  told  her  of  his  fear  while 
she  was  in  the  strange  sleep.  He  said  wild  things  to 
her  about  what  he  should  do  if  he  ever  really  lost  her; 
and  then  he  clasped  her  to  him,  and  asked  her  to  be 
his  bride. 

**  Your  bride?"  she  said,  with  a  radiant  smile. 
'*  Why,  I  am  your  bride!  In  the  long,  long  ago, 
in  the  dim  time  that  saw  the  beginning  of  things,  you 
took  me  to  your  heart  as  your  bride.  I  have  been 
your  bride  in  many  lives  since  then,  and  will  be  in 
many  future  lives.  No  words  of  mummery  need  be 
said  over  us  by  any  canting  priests  to  join  our  souls  to- 
gether, for  we  are  affinities.  I  am  your  bride:  you 
are  my  bridegroom;  and  the  present,  the  priceless 
Now  is  ours.      Let  us  forget  all  else." 

They  forgot  time  and  sorrow  and  the  world;  they 
forgot   death   and   life,    and   the   past   and   the   future; 


SANTA  BEATRIZ 


they  forgot  hope,  for  all  their  hopes  were  realized; 
they  forgot  joy,  for  it  was  incarnate  within  them. 
Their  love  was  perfect  in  its  fulness,  yet  as  pure  as  the 
love  of  a  mother  for  her  babe.  And  in  a  space  of 
time  that  was  as  short  as  a  breath  and  as  long  as  eter- 
nity, the  morning  came,  and  the  rays  of  the  sun  came 
out  of  the  east  and  lightened  up  the  windows  of  the 
house  that  to  the  man  seemed  like  a  palace  of  the 
blessed. 

**  You  must  go  from  me  now  for  a  time,"  said  the 
girl.  **  Your  horses  are  in  harness,  and  your  servant 
awaits  you  at  my  gate.  You  must  journey  again  to 
your  own  city,  and  there  arrange  so  you  can  come  to 
me  again,  and  be  prepared  to  abide  with  me  forever. 
You  have  duties  to  others,  and  must  go.  I  shall  re- 
joice all  the  time  you  are  gone,  for  I  know  you  will 
come  again.      And  now  farewell." 

The  man  grieved  because  his  duty  compelled  him 
to  go  to  his  own  people  and  attend  to  affairs  that  re- 
quired attention;  and,  as  he  rode  in  the  buckboard 
over  the  mesas  and  plains,  and  then  in  the  cars  over 
the  deserts  and  mountains  and  forests  and  fields,  he 
thought  unceasingly  of  the  woman  who  was  called 
Santa  Beatriz.  He  remembered,  in  a  disjointed  way, 
the  tale  she  had  told  him  of  her  visions,  of  her  power 
over  the  poor  people  who  dwelt  in  the  valley  that  was 


72  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

her  home,  of  her  sayings  of  past  lives  and  lives  to 
come.  It  did  not  seem  strange  to  him  that  she  was 
not  to  become  known  to  the  world;  for  it  would  be 
sacrilege  for  the  gaping  crowds  to  know  of  this  fair 
woman  who  dwelt  in  seclusion  in  a  sequestered  valley, 
and  was  almost  a  goddess. 

So  soon  as  his  affairs  were  adjusted,  he  hastened 
back  to  Mexico.  He  left  the  railroads  and  the  busy 
throngs  of  men,  and  set  out  again  for  the  peaceful 
valley  that  was  to  be  his  home  until  the  day  of  his 
death,  and  where  his  radiant  bride  awaited  him  with 
kisses  and  caresses.  He  reached  Casa  Beatriz  at  the 
same  hour  as  before.  Again  he  saw  the  great  silent 
house,  the  green  fields,  the  long  rows  of  corrals. 
Once  more  he  observed  that  no  living  being  was  near 
the  house.  Soon  he  saw  the  ponderous  gates  open  as 
they  had  done  before,  the  two  tall  Mexicans  took 
their  stands,  and  again  came  the  black-clad  man  with 
the  wooden  staff.  His  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  and 
the  seconds  seemed  like  hours  while  he  waited  for  the 
old  duenna  and  his  sweetheart  with  her  beauty  that 
was  like  unto  the  beauty  of  a  morning  on  the  sea. 

Then  she  came,  clad  as  betore  in  clinging  silk,  her 
raven  hair  in  sweet  disarray  over  her  fair  brow,  her 
white  teeth  showing  as  she  gazed  upon  the  ground  and 
smiled.      The  man  could  scarcely  control  his  emotion. 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  73 

He  sprang  from  the  wagon,  rushed  to  her,  and  clasped 
her  in  his  arms. 

The  girl  recoiled  from  him  in  surprise,  but  gave  no 
sign  of  either  recognition  or  fear. 

"Why,  Beatriz!  Why  do  you  act  so  strangely.? 
Are  you  not  glad  to  see  me  again  after  we  have  been 
apart  so  long?"  said  the  man. 

**  I  do  not  know  you,  sir.  Why  should  I  be  glad 
to  see  you  more  than  any  other  stranger?  What  do 
you  desire  of  me?  "  replied  Beatriz,  with  great  dignity. 

''What  does  this  mean?"  asked  the  man,  turning 
to  the  duenna.  **  Has  anything  occurred  to  mar  the 
memory  of  Beatriz?  Has  she  been  ill?  If  some- 
thing had  not  befallen  her,  she  would  have  been  over- 
joyed at  my  return.      Tell  me,  what  is  wrong?  " 

"Santa  Beatriz  is  well,  as  she  always  is,"  replied 
the  duenna.  **  Her  mind  is  as  clear  as  ever,  her  life 
goes  on  in  the  same  way.  But,  Senor,  I  must  tell 
you  one  thing  that  has  befallen,  which  will  make  you 
very  sad.  It  is  this:  Santa  Beatriz  has  utterly  for- 
gotten you.  The  recollection  of  you  has  gone  from 
her  mind  entirely,  and  you  will  be  in  her  memory  no 
more  forever." 

«*  What  strange  things  do  you  talk  of,  duenna?" 
asked  Beatriz,  turning  to  the  old  woman.  "You 
speak  of  my  memory  for  this  stranger.      Why,  I  have 


74  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

no  memory  of  him;  for  I  have  never  seen  him  before. 
Yet  stay:  there  is  something  about  his  face  —  a  look 
in  his  eyes  —  that  does  seem  strangely  familiar 
to   me." 

She  looked  at  him  carefully,  he  thought  even  wist- 
fully.     Then  she  turned  aw^ay,  and  said:  — 

**  No,  it  must  have  been  fancy  or  some  shred  of  a 
dream  that  has  clung  in  my  brain.  I  thought  for  an 
instant  I  had  know^n  this  man,  but  I  am  sure  I  have 
never  looked  upon  his  face  before." 

The  duenna  seemed  to  pity  the  stranger,  and  in- 
vited him  to  take  up  his  abode  in  the  house  until  he, 
too,  should  be  perfectly  sure  that  the  beautiful  girl 
had  utterly  forgotten  him. 

He  remained  in  the  house  for  many  days.  He  nar- 
rowly observed  every  look,  word,  and  action  of  Santa 
Beatriz  whenever  she  came  near  him  or  was  in  sight 
of  him.  She  seemed  to  know  her  surroundings  per- 
fectly, to  remember  every  room,  piece  of  furniture, 
plant,  and  book;  but  each  time  she  saw  him  afresh  it 
was  as  though  she  had  never  seen  him  before.  He 
could  elicit  no  word  of  recognition  from  her;  and  he 
decided  to  go  away,  as  the  situation  was  almost  driv- 
ing him  mad.  When  his  conveyance  was  awaiting 
him  in  the  road,  and  he  was  ready  to  depart,  he  saw 
Beatriz  and   her   duenna  walking   in    the   patio.      He 


SANTA  BEATRIZ  75 

spoke  to  the  duenna,  and  she  left  her  mistress  and 
went  to  the  gate  to  talk  to  him. 

**  I  am  going  away  now,"  he  said,  **  for  to  remain 
here  is  worse  than  torture.  I  need  not  explain  to 
you;  for  you  know  what  she  was  to  me,  and  of  the 
love  I  shall  always  bear  her.  But,  before  I  go,  tell 
me,  if  you  can,  why  it  is  that  memory  of  me  is  gone 
from  her,  and  why  it  is  that  she  does  not  know  me, 
when  she  seems  sane  and  well,  and  knows  all  other 
things." 

*«  It  is  a  strange  thing,  and  I  can  only  conjecture 
the  reason  for  it,"  answered  the  duenna.  **  Santa 
Beatriz  told  you  something  of  her  life,  so  you  know 
that  she  is  as  one  set  apart  in  the  cause  of  good.  She 
is  controlled  by  unknown  powers,  and  it  seems  de- 
creed that  she  must  live  out  her  life  in  this  little  valley, 
devoted  to  the  people  who  dwell  here;  and  it  also 
seems  decreed  that  she  must  not  bear  love  in  her 
bosom  for  any  living  man.  When  you  came  here 
first,  she  knew  you,  and  she  told  me  that  in  other 
lives  than  this  you  had  been  her  lover.  I  think  that 
may  be  true,  for  until  you  came  she  never  spoke  a 
word  of  love  to  any  man.  Within  an  hour  from  the 
time  you  went  away,  she  came  to  me  and  told  me  she 
feared  she  was  fated  to  forget  that  you  had  been  with 
her,  and  even  forget  that  she  had  met  you  in  this  life. 


76  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


I  believe  that  those  who  guide  and  rule  her  life  do 
not  desire  that  she  know  and  love  you,  and  I  think  it 
is  they  who  have  effaced  the  memory  of  you  from  her 
brain.  I  know  not  why,  unless  it  is  that  her  love  for 
you  would  mar  the  work  she  was  born  into  this  life 
to  do.  In  other  lives  she  may  know  and  remember 
and  love  you,  as  I  am  sure  she  has  done  in  past  lives. 
And  that  is  all  the  hope  I  can  see  for  you." 

The  duenna  joined  her  mistress,  and  the  two 
women  resumed  their  walk  up  and  down  the  grassy 
patio.  As  they  walked,  a  humming-bird  lit  upon 
the  finger  of  Santa  Beatriz  ;  and,  as  the  stranger  looked 
upon  her  for  the  last  time,  she  was  talking  to  the  bird 
and  smiling  like  a  child  with  a  new  toy,  or  like  a 
poet  admiring  the  fresh  beauty  of  a  lily. 

The  traveller  lives  and  works  and  hopes  and  fears, 
much  as  do  other  men,  except  that  he  remembers 
that  he  saw  and  loved  and  dwelt  with  the  World's 
Desire  in  his  waking  hours  instead  of  only  in  his 
dreams. 


The  Tale  of  Burnt-foot 
Maiden 


TRUE  is  the  saying  that  '*  coming  events  cast 
their  shadows  before,"  and  it  is  also  true 
that  past  events  greatly  influence  the  occur- 
rences of  times  long  after.  That  an  Indian  maiden's 
life  was  blighted,  and  the  love  of  her  heart  was  turned 
to  bitter  jealousy,  was  due  to  the  fact  that  in  years 
long  past,  before  the  white  men  had  settled  the  plains 
and  valleys  of  Colorado,  a  fierce  battle  between  the 
Ute  and  Comanche  peoples  took  place  on  the  great 
plains  north  of  where  now  stands  the  little  town  of 
La  Junta.  And  even  the  result  of  that  battle  hinged 
upon  another  older  event. 

Long  ago  an  Apache  man,  while  hunting  along  the 
little  streams  that  flow  into  the  San  Juan  River,  met 
with  a  band  of  Utes,  and  became  enamoured  of  a 
comely  Ute  maiden  who  was  with  the  party.  So 
strong  was  his  liking  for  her  that  he  abandoned  his 
clan  and  tribe,  took  the  woman  to  wife,  and  lived 
with  the  Utes  as  a  member  of  that  nation.  A  son 
was  born  of  the  union;  and  the  mixture  of  blood,  as 
is  the  case  of  nations  as  well  as  individuals,  was  for 
good.  The  son  combined  the  cunning  of  the  Apaches 
with  the  sturdy  bravery  of  the  Utes,  and  his  intelli- 
77 


78  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


gence  was  greater  than  that  of  men  of  either  of  his 
parent  tribes.  In  time  his  Apache  father  returned  to 
his  own  land  and  his  own  people,  as  old  men  are 
prone  to  do  in  their  declining  years;  but  the  son  grew 
up  a  Ute.  When  the  battle  with  the  Comanches  oc- 
curred, this  young  half-breed  Ute  was  but  a  warrior; 
but,  as  his  band  was  being  cut  down  by  the  warriors 
of  the  opposing  tribe,  he  rose  in  his  stirrups,  made  a 
fiery  speech  to  his  comrades,  rode  headlong  into  the 
midst  of  the  Comanches,  and  plucked  victory  from  the 
rout  that  had  been  started.  And  then  his  grateful 
fellows,  forgetting  that  he  was  half-alien  and  of  com- 
mon birth  on  his  mother's  side,  made  him  their  chief. 
And  thus  it  was  that  Mah-kotch-ah-wuh  became  the 
chief  of  the  Moache  Utes,  and  his  bravery  in  other 
battles  caused  the  allied  Ute  tribes  to  elect  him  the 
war  chief  of  the  nation. 

Mah-kotch-ah-wuh  took  wives,  as  a  great  chief  and 
medicine  man  should  do.  He  selected  a  wife  from 
his  own  tribe,  he  captured  another  from  the  Kiowas, 
and  in  time  a  third  was  given  him  by  a  friend  of  his 
who  had  fought  by  his  side  in  many  a  hard  battle  with 
the  surrounding  peoples.  Children  were  born  to  him, 
the  eldest  being  named  Mean.  And,  as  the  whites 
came  and  filled  the  land,  and  their  forts  grew  up  on 
every  side,  and  the  strong  arm  of  the  law  lay  over  the 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    79 

face  of  the  country  of  the  Utes,  the  ambition  of  Mah- 
kotch-ah-wuh  became  centred  in  his  son.  Mean 
was  not  much  Hke  his  father.  The  old  chief  was 
dignified  and  self-assertive  and  sometimes  strident; 
while  his  son  was  quiet  and  retiring,  and  talked  but 
little.  But  under  his  quiet  demeanor  there  beat  the 
blood  of  two  red  nations,  and  he  was  Indian  to  the  core. 
His  father  had  him  instructed  in  the  magic  of  the 
tribe,  and  did  all  he  could  to  educate  him  to  take  his 
place  as  chief  when  the  days  of  the  father  were  no 
more.  And  when  he  was  eighteen  years  old,  and  the 
great  Bear  Dance  was  being  given.  Mean  took  Kah- 
noon-i-patch  (Burnt-foot  Maiden)  to  wife. 

Many  of  the  Ute  women  are  handsome  when  they 
are  young;  but  in  all  the  allied  tribes  of  Moaches, 
Capotas,  and  Weeminuchees,  there  was  no  woman  so 
comely  as  the  bride  of  Mean.  Her  black  eyes  were 
large  and  soft;  and,  when  they  gazed  upon  her  hus- 
band in  melting  tenderness,  he  thought  that  no  other 
woman  in  all  the  world  had  eyes  of  such  lustre  and 
beauty.  Her  form  was  perfectly  modelled,  and  in 
her  picturesque  garments  she  looked  like  a  woodland 
Diana.  And  she  loved  her  husband  so  much  that  she 
had  no  thought  and  no  care  for  anything  in  the  world 
but  him.  She  went  with  him  from  the  cannee  to  his 
horse  whenever  he  rode  away,  she  met  him  far  up  the 


8o  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

trail  on  his  return  from  any  expedition,  and  she 
studied  and  worked  and  planned  to  make  his  home 
comfortable  and  his  life  pleasant.  And  she  was  so 
happy  that  she  sang  soft  Ute  songs  all  day  as  she 
went  about  her  work,  and  she  smiled  and  caressed 
her  lover  all  the  time  he  was  at  home. 

Then  Mean's  father  came  to  him  and  told  him  that 
it  would  be  good  for  him  to  go  to  the  great  schools 
of  the  white-faced  people,  and  learn  the  wisdom  they 
had  in  their  books,  and  gain  knowledge  of  the  ways 
of  that  dominant  race.  Kah-noon-i-patch  was  grieved 
that  Mean  should  go  from  her;  but,  as  it  was  for  his 
own  advancement,  and  in  order  that  he  might  become 
even  wiser  than  nature  had  made  him,  she  was  rec- 
onciled. And  no  tenderer  farewell  was  ever  spoken 
than  that  of  the  young  Ute  bride  to  her  husband  as 
he  departed  for  the  wide  lands  of  the  East. 

In  six  months  Mean  returned  from  the  school,  and 
not  long  after,  his  wife  became  the  mother  of  a  girl 
baby. 

**  We  will  name  the  baby  Purple  Morning,"  said 
the  father,  looking  from  the  tent  to  the  east,  and 
thinking,  according  to  Ute  custom,  to  name  the  new- 
born child  after  the  first  thing  his  eyes  rested  upon. 

'*  Let  us  name  her  Mary,"  answered  the  wife. 
**  While  you  were  away  at  the  great  school  a   Bible 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN     8i 

man  came  here;  and  he  told  me  a  wondrous  tale  of  a 
mother  whose  name  was  Mary,  and  she  was  the 
fairest  and  dearest  and  truest  woman  that  ever  lived. 
She  was  a  white-skinned  woman;  but  the  tale  the 
man  told  of  her  made  me  think  that  she  was  as  true 
and  as  loving  as  I  am  to  you,  and  as  I  hope  our  babe 
will  be  to  her  husband  when  she  is  a  woman  and  has 
taken  up  the  life  of  a  woman." 

So  the  little  red  mite  was  named  Mary;  and,  as 
the  soft  baby  lips  found  her  breast,  and  her  husband 
held  her  hand  and  smiled  down  into  her  eyes,  the  cup 
of  Kah-noon-i-patch's  happiness  was  full  to  overflow- 
ing. Mean  had  returned  to  his  people  clad  in  a  blue 
school  uniform  and  with  short  hair,  and  much  mur- 
muring against  these  innovations  was  heard  amongst 
the  men  of  his  tribe.  But  his  father,  the  chief,  ex- 
plained that  the  young  man  was  only  following  the 
imperative  rules  of  the  school,  and  that  the  changes 
were  not  permanent.  It  was  not  long  until  Mean 
went  to  the  school  again;  and  his  wife  dwelt  alone  in 
a  tent  next  her  mother's,  and  passed  the  long  hours 
caring  for  her  little  babe  and  longing  for  the  return  of 
her  husband.  Ute  social  laws  are  lax,  and  many 
men  of  the  tribe  essayed  to  make  love  to  Kah-noon-i 
patch;  but  she  repulsed  them  so  fiercely  that  soon  she 
was  allowed  to  pass  her  time  unmolested.      And  then 


82  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


Mean  again  returned  to  his  people;  and  to  his  wife 
the  sky  was  as  fair  as  the  skies  of  the  Happy  Hunting 
Grounds,  the  days  were  like  sweet  dreams  of  bliss, 
and  the  nights  were  full  of  joy  that  was  too  deep  for 
expression.  Love  and  the  world  were  young  and 
fair;  and  in  no  palace  in  the  world  dwelt  a  happier 
wife  and  mother  and  lover  than  was  this  red  woman 
of  the  Utes,  who  dwelt  in  a  tent  in  the  wild  land  of  a 
savage  tribe. 

**  For  your  sake,  my  husband,  I  am  sorry  that  our 
child  is  not  a  son;  for,  if  the  little  Mary  had  but  been 
a  boy,  then  could  you  rejoice  in  the  knowledge  that 
your  son,  after  you,  would  be  a  chief.  Yet,  for  my- 
self, I  rejoice  that  she  is  a  daughter,  and  thus  will  be 
longer  at  my  breast,  and  nearer  to  me  for  more  years, 
than  though  she  had  been  a  son.  And  in  good  time 
the  great  Seh-now-wufF  will  bless  us  with  a  male 
child,  and  then  will  you  love  me  even  more  than  you 
do  now.  Is  it  not  so,  dear  one?"  And  the  Ute 
mother  leaned  her  cheek  against  the  cheek  of  her 
husband. 

Mean  rejoiced  in  his  wife.  Her  suppleness,  and 
the  strength  of  her  rounded  limbs,  and  the  grace  of 
her  motion,  and  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,  were  all 
dear  in  his  sight.  He  tarried  much  with  his  wife, 
holding    aloof  from    the    council  meetings,   medicine- 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    83 

making,  and  monte  playing  of  the  men  of  his  tribe. 
And  in  time  he  went  again  to  the  Indian  school. 

At  the  school  the  young  Indian  found  much  to 
think  about.  He  noticed  that  it  took  long,  weary 
hours  for  him  to  learn  simple  things  from  the  books 
that  his  masters  seemed  to  comprehend  without  study. 
He  observed  that,  while  he  was  well  treated,  he  was 
looked  down  upon  as  an  inferior, —  that  he,  a  man, 
was  petted,  cajoled,  coaxed,  and  driven  like  a  child. 
The  Indian  blood  in  his  veins  ran  faster  because  of 
these  things;  and  the  black  savagery  of  his  nature 
arose  within  him,  and  he  came  to  hate  the  school  and 
its  white-faced  teachers.  So  one  day  he  announced 
that  he  was  going  to  return  to  the  reservation,  and  at 
once.  Argument  was  of  no  avail;  and,  as  it  was 
deemed  best  not  to  anger  the  son  of  a  powerful  chief 
and  thus  place  difficulties  in  the  way  of  securing  other 
Ute  children  and  youths  for  the  school,  he  was 
allowed  to  go. 

Again  he  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  agency  in  a 
blue  uniform,  a  gray  hat,  and  with  shorn  locks.  And, 
when  it  was  said  that  he  had  returned  to  stay,  the  old 
men  complained  of  the  folly  taught  to  young  Indians 
at  school,  and  taunted  Mean  for  adopting  the  ways  of 
the  whites.  As  he  sat  at  a  meeting  of  the  medicine 
men,  of  whom  by  selection  and  initiation  he  was  one, 
an  old  medicine  priest  said:  — 


84      ,  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

**  Mean,  it  should  he  that  now  you  should  decide 
whether  you  will  be  fully  a  Ute  or  partly  a  white 
man.  It  is  not  good  that  you  appear  among  us  with 
shorn  hair,  for  the  bravery  of  men  is  largely  in  their 
hair.  And  the  clothes  that  were  worn  by  the  fore- 
fathers of  our  people  should  be  good  enough  for  you. 
You  are  the  son  of  a  chief,  and  are  a  medicine  man  by 
your  own  right;  and,  if  you  do  not  desire  to  disgrace 
yourself  and  your  people,  you  should  again  return  to 
the  ways  of  your  tribe.      How  will  you  decide?  " 

The  lectures  given  by  the  teachers  of  the  school 
came  to  the  Indian  boy's  memory.  He  remembered 
the  life  that  had  been  pictured  to  him  as  the  **new 
dispensation  ' '  for  the  Indians, —  a  quiet,  dull  life, 
spent  tilling  the  soil  for  six  days  of  the  week,  sleeping 
the  sleep  of  exhaustion  at  night,  and  on  Sunday  going 
to  a  stuffy  church  to  listen  to  the  droning  of  some  dull 
man  who  pretended  to  interpret  the  Law  of  Laws  in 
all  correctness.  The  lectures  had  not  pictured  the 
new  life  in  quite  that  way,  but  it  was  thus  that  it 
seemed  to  Mean.  And  then  he  thought  of  the  life  of 
his  own  people, —  of  the  wild  riding,  the  glad  hunt- 
ing, the  sacredness  and  mystery  of  the  medicine-mak- 
ing, the  dancing  that  caused  one's  blood  to  flow 
fiercely  through  his  veins.  And  he  arose  in  his  place 
and  stripped  his   **  citizen's  clothes"   from  his  back. 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    85 

he  smeared  his  face  with  paint,  he  donned  the  gee- 
string  and  blankets  of  his  people,  and  he  became  the 
wildest  and  most  frenzied  of  all  the  frenzied  men  who 
took  part  in  the  weird  medicine-making. 

The  next  day  his  father,  the  chief,  took  him  to  a 
lonely  place  in  the  woods,  and  talked  to  him  long  and 
earnestly.  The  old  man  asked  his  son  of  the  vaunted 
knowledge  that  came  from  studying  the  books  and  the 
ways  of  the  white  men;  and  he  seemed  rather  pleased 
to  hear  his  son  say  that  it  was  all  folly,  and  the  work 
of  fools,  and  not  fit  for  men  to  know  or  do. 

*'  Then,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  **  there  is  much 
for  you  to  hope  for  from  our  people.  The  men  of 
my  tribe  are  all  my  friends,  and  they  all  hope  that  one 
of  my  sons  shall  be  chief  in  my  stead  when  I  am 
gone.  Your  brother  will  never  be  chief.  But  if 
you  think  the  ways  of  our  people  are  better  than  the 
ways  of  the  white  people,  and  if  you  will  strive  and 
be  diligent  in  the  study  of  magic,  you  shall  be  first  a 
pwu-au-guty  and  later  a  chief;  for  old  Mape-ah-sas 
says  he  will  choose  you  as  initiate  to  succeed  as  head 
medicine-maker,  if  you  will  be  in  all  things  a  Ute;  and 
I  will  select  you  to  succeed  me  as  chief.  But  be  a 
Ute  in  all  things.  Attend  all  the  dances  and  makings 
of  medicine,  fast  with  Mape-ah-sas,  learn  to  gamble 
with  adroitness,   take  to  yourself  another  wife,   and 


86  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

secure  many  horses.  Win  in  the  races  of  the  riders, 
win  in  the  game  of  kan-yute,  be  first  and  best  if  any 
fighting  is  to  be  done,  and  be  eloquent  in  the 
councils." 

**  But  another  wife,  my  father?  I  am  well  pleased 
with  the  maid,  Kah-noon-i-patch,  and  I  love  her;  and 
I  fear  she  would  be  very  sad  if  I  brought  another  wife 
to  my  cannee.^'' 

"Foolish  speech,  my  son,"  grunted  the  old  man. 
"You  speak  like  a  woman  or  a  child.  Kah-noon-i- 
patch  is  a  good  maiden,  and  a  comely  one;  but,  like 
all  women,  she  is  selfish  and  jealous,  and  will  be 
angry  and  will  grieve  for  a  time  when  you  bring  an- 
other wife  to  your  home.  But  shall  you  be  as  these 
fools  of  white  men,  and  have  but  one  wife  all  the 
days  of  your  life?  Why,  a  man  who  has  not  many 
wives  and  multitudes  of  horses  is  no  better  than  a  fool 
of  a  Pueblo  Indian,  who  knows  no  more  than  to  mould 
pottery  and  grow  little  fields  of  maize,  and  pay  his 
few  pieces  of  money  to  a  priest.  When  I  was  young, 
I  sought  out  the  lands  of  distant  tribes  to  steal  their 
horses  and  make  captives  of  their  women;  and  those 
were  the  days  of  my  life  the  memory  of  which  make 
bearable  these  dull  days  when  our  lands  have  been 
taken  by  the  whites  and  we  are  penned  up  here  on 
this   narrow    reservation  like  so  many  rabbits  in  the 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    87 

trap  of  a  Navajo  boy.  Be  a  man.  Mean.  Be  my 
son,  and  a  true  son  of  the  two  bloods  that  flow  in 
your  veins,  and  get  waves  and  many  horses." 

The  annual  Bear  Dance  of  the  Utes  is  the  time 
when  marriages  are  arranged  more  often  than  at  other 
times.  As  the  Indians  dance  away  the  days  to  assist 
the  bears  to  recover  from  hibernation,  and  then  to 
help  them  to  find  mates,  so  their  minds  run  upon  find- 
ing mates  for  themselves;  and  men  who  seek  new 
wives,  and  youths  who  seek  their  first  marital  part- 
ners, dance  with  great  zest  and  zeal,  as  do  almost  all 
the  women.  Mean  attended  the  dance  that  occurred 
soon  after  his  father's  conversation;  but,  as  he  feared 
the  reproaches  that  he  felt  would  be  in  the  soft  eyes 
of  his  wife,  he  asked  her  not  to  participate  in  the  cere- 
monies. And  one  evening,  as  the  great,  yellow, 
molten  sun  of  the  San  Juan  was  sinking  behind  the 
towering  crests  of  the  La  Platas,  he  led  to  his  home  in 
the  valley  of  the  Rio  de  los  Pinos  a  young  girl  whom 
he  had  chosen  as  his  second  wife.  She  was  a  meek, 
awkward,  rather  ungainly  creature;  and  she  was  very 
proud  that  she  had  been  chosen  as  the  wife  of  a  medi- 
cine man  w^ho  w^ould  some  day  be  chief. 

It  is  believed  by  the  Utes  that  from  time  im- 
memorial—  since  the  time  that  Seh-now-wufF,  the 
Great    Spirit,   dwelt    upon    the    earth  —  it    has    been 


88  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

proper  and  right  for  men  to  have  a  plurality  of  wives; 
and  the  second  wife  of  Mean  saw  nothing  wrong,  or 
even  unusual,  in  her  marriage  to  a  man  who  already- 
had  a  wife.  She  expected,  of  course,  that  her  hus- 
band would  build  for  her  a  new  tent,  or  cannee,  as  the 
Utes  name  it,  next  to  the  one  in  which  Kah-noon-i- 
patch  would  live;  and  she  looked  forward  with  pleas- 
ure to  enjoying  the  company  of  the  first  wife  when 
their  joint  husband  should  be  away  on  hunts  or  attend- 
ing medicine-makings.  Yet  she  shyly  held  back  as 
Mean  opened  the  flap  of  his  tent  and  spoke  to  Kah- 
noon-i-patch. 

**Kah-noon-i-patch,  come  and  give  welcome  to 
your  sister,"  he  said,  averting  his  eyes  from  her  face 
when  he  saw  the  happy  smile  with  which  she  looked 
up  from  where  she  knelt  at  her  cooking  to  greet  him. 

A  frightened  look  came  into  her  eyes  at  once,  and 
she  hastily  rose  to  her  feet. 

**  What  is  this  talk  of  my  sister?  "  she  said. 

**  This  is  my  new  wife,  and  she  shall  be  a  sister  to 
you.  She  has  promised  to  love  you,  and  to  render 
you  the  obedience  that  belongs  to  the  first  wife  of  a 
household,"  Mean  replied,  shifting  uneasily  on  his 
feet. 

Kah-noon-i-patch  had  been  a  dutiful  daughter  to 
her  parents,  she  had  been  a  true  wife  to  her  husband. 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    89 

and  throughout  all  her  life  she  had  not  seemed  like  a 
barbarian.  Yet  her  blood  was  pure  Ute  blood,  which 
is  to  say  that  it  was  hot  and  vengeful  and  relentless, 
and  could  upon  occasion  be  cruel  and  murderous. 
When  she  first  heard  the  terrible  words  from  her  hus- 
band's lips,  she  stood  like  one  stricken.  Then  she 
clutched  at  her  heart  and  reeled,  and  the  landscape 
seemed  swimming  before  her  eyes.  She  thought  of 
the  happy,  happy  days  she  had  spent  with  her  hus- 
band, of  the  happy  years  she  had  expected  to  live 
with  him,  rearing  his  children  and  devoting  her  life  to 
his  welfare  and  happiness.  Then  a  wave  of  resent- 
ment arose  in  her  savage  blood.  She  forgot  that  she 
was  a  wife  and  a  mother,  and  remembered  only  that 
she  was  a  loving  woman  who  had  been  causelessly 
wronged.  Rage  mastered  her;  and  she  grasped  a 
sharp  knife  from  among  her  few  utensils,  and  murder- 
ously struck  at  her  husband  with  it.  He  grasped  the 
sharp  blade  in  his  hand,  and  was  cut  to  the  bone,  but 
prevented  it  from  striking  his  heart.  The  woman, 
with  the  strength  of  fury,  drew  the  knife  from  his 
grasp,  and  struck  at  him  again  and  again;  and  it  re- 
quired all  his  masculine  strength  to  avert  the  blows 
and  save  his  life.  Finally,  she  dropped  the  knife, 
and  struck  him  full  in  the  face. 

"Why  do   you   not  beat  me,    you   animal?"    she 


90  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

cried.  **  It  is  lawful  for  a  husband  to  beat  his  wife 
for  cause,  and  I  am  giving  you  cause.  But,  if  you  so 
much  as  clench  your  hand  to  strike  me,  I  will  kill 
you.  I  may  not  have  strength  to  kill  you  now,  when 
you  are  warned  and  can  defend  yourself.  But  strike 
me  but  once,  even  make  a  motion  to  strike  me,  and 
sooner  or  later  I  will  kill  you." 

The  young  Indian  attempted  to  reason  with  his 
wife,  and  to  point  out  that  his  own  advancement  in 
the  tribe  required  that  he  should  have  two  wives. 
He  promised  that  she  should  always  be  the  favorite; 
and  he  said  that  within  a  few  weeks,  after  enough 
time  had  passed  so  that  too  much  scandal  would  not 
be  made,  he  would  dismiss  the  new  wife  and  dwell 
alone  with  Kah-noon-i-patch.  Tears  came  to  the 
eyes  of  the  injured  wife,  for  after  all  she  was  a 
woman.  Then,  like  a  wild  beast,  she  flew  at  her  hus- 
band, clutched  his  throat,  and  would  have  killed  him 
with  the  strength  engendered  by  sheer  frenzy  if  the 
frightened  new  wife  had  not  come  to  her  bridegroom's 
assistance.  Then  Kah-noon-i-patch  caught  up  her 
baby,  and   ran   swiftly  away  into   the   forest. 

She  wandered  in  the  forest  for  days,  no  one  know- 
ing where  she  slept  at  night.  On  the  few  occasions 
when  any  one  met  her,  she  at  once  hastily  went 
away.      And  when  Mean  met  her,  and  attempted  to 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    91 

persuade  her  to  return  to  her  home,  she  drew  the 
knife  she  wore  at  her  belt,  and  said  she  would  kill  him 
if  he  did  not  at  once  leave  her. 

A  few  women  who  dared  not  speak  their  minds 
were  the  only  members  of  the  tribe  who  sympathized 
with  Kah-noon-i-patch.  Nearly  all  the  men,  and 
the  older  of  the  women,  said  that  she  was  foolish  and 
very  wicked  to  thus  rebel  against  the  law  that  had 
come  down  through  countless  generations.  Some  of 
the  men  even  said  that  it  was  to  be  regretted  that  the 
sway  of  the  white  men  prevented  the  old  punishment 
for  undutiful  wives  being  inflicted  upon  her. 

Many  of  the  men  then  sought  to  win  Kah-noon-i- 
patch;  and  proposals  of  marriage  were  made  to  her  by 
many  of  the  unmarried  men,  and  even  by  some  who 
had  wives.  And,  when  they  were  through  talking  and 
boasting  of  their  own  greatness,  she  would  look  at 
them  with  a  peculiar  flash  in  her  eyes,  her  teeth  would 
meet  with  a  little  click,  and,  when  she  began  to 
fondle  the  knife  at  her  belt,  the  particular  swain  who 
was  pressing  his  suit  with  her  would  usually  remember 
that  he  had  another  thing  to  do  just  then,  and  would 
hastily  depart. 

Then  one  day  a  new  yellow  tent  was  seen  on  the 
little  mesa  that  lies  to  the  east  of  the  river;  and,  when 
curious  men  rode   over  to  it  to  learn  whose  it  was. 


92  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

their  eyes  were  attracted  by  a  little  mark  upon  the  flap 
that  announced  that  the  tent  was  the  home  of  a 
Magdalen.  No  eyes  but  an  Indian's  could  have  seen 
the  mark,  and  none  but  Indians  could  have  understood 
it.  There  was  some  wonder  at  the  yellow  tent  and 
the  secret  sign;  but  much  greater  wonder  when  it 
was  known  that  the  occupant  of  the  tent  was  Kah- 
noon-i-patch,  the  once  gentle  wife  whom  the  **  Bible 
man  '*  had  said  was  like  a  white  woman, —  the  tender 
mother  who  had  departed  from  the  custom  of  her 
race  in  order  that  her  babe  might  bear  the  name  that 
stood  for  all  the  virtues. 

That  was  years  ago;  but  Kah-noon-i-patch  still 
dwells  in  the  yellow  tent,  and  the  secret  sign  is  still 
upon  the  tent  flap.  The  new  wife  of  Mean  died  in 
childbirth;  and  the  living  infant,  according  to  Ute 
law,  was  strapped  to  its  dead  mother's  breast,  wrapped 
in  the  same  blanket  that  was  her  shroud,  and  buried  with 
her, —  the  living  and  the  dead  together.  The  tale 
was  told  to  Kah-noon-i-patch  by  nearly  every  gossip 
of  the  tribe,  some  of  whom  lowered  their  voices  when 
they  told  how  the  little  infant  had  been  heard  to 
feebly  cry  when  the  soft  earth  of  the  grave  had  been 
shovelled  upon  it;  but  all  the  time  they  talked,  Kah- 
noon-i-patch  stared  straight  ahead  of  her,  like  a 
carved   image,  and   not    even   by  the   movement  of  a 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    93 

muscle  or  an  eyelash  did  she  acknowledge  that  she 
heard  those  who  were  talking. 

One  day  a  trader  sat  in  front  of  the  yellow  tent, 
holding  his  horse  by  a  lariat  which  he  kept  in  his 
hand.  This  man  had  given  goods  to  Kah-noon-i- 
patch  when  she  had  no  money;  he  had  bought  medi- 
cine for  her  little  Mary,  and  thus  saved  her  life,  when 
she  was  sick  and  had  been  given  up  to  die;  he  had 
done  many  other  kind  things  to  the  red  woman  who 
was  a  wild  Magdalen;  and  always  he  had  treated  her 
with  as  much  respect  as  though  she  were  still  the 
honored  wife  of  a  chief's  son.  For  all  these  things 
she  liked  this  man;  and,  when  he  talked  to  her  of 
Mean,  she  answered  him. 

She  told  him  that  she  regretted  the  life  she  lived, 
but  would  not  now  change  it;  that  the  only  fear  she 
had  was  that  she  might  some  time  again  grow  mad 
with  fury  and  kill  her  former  husband  as  he  lay  asleep 
at  night  or  when  he  did  not  think  she  was  near. 

**Do  you  still  hate  him  so,  then?"  asked  the 
white  man. 

**Hate  him!"  the  Indian  woman  repeated  softly 
to  herself.  The  hard,  cold  gleam  left  her  black  eyes, 
and  they  melted  in  a  tender  look.  Her  voice  be- 
came low  and  soft  and  gentle,  and  she  said:  — 

"You  have  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  must  speak  no 


94  ADOBELAND    STORIES 

lies  to  you.  Also,  you  belong  to  a  people  much 
wiser  than  ours;  and  it  may  be  that  you  will  under- 
stand me  better  than  I  understand  myself.  So  I  will 
confess  to  you  that  I  love  Mean  —  my  husband,  the 
bridegroom  of  my  youth  —  more  than  I  love  myself, 
or  life,  or  my  hope  of  happiness  in  the  other  world. 
I  love  him!  Do  you  know  what  that  means?  I  love 
him,  love  him!  I  dream  of  him  every  night;  I  think 
of  him  every  minute  that  I  am  awake;  and  my  heart 
thrills  whenever  I  see  him  or  see  anything  belonging 
to  him  or  hear  his  name  spoken.  But  I  shall  never 
speak  to  him  again:  no,  not  even  if  he  and  I  should 
live  so  long  that  we  were  the  only  two  people  left 
upon  the  earth.  I  would  not  raise  my  finger  to  save 
him  from  death,  even  if  he  were  being  killed  by  my 
worst  enemy.  I  love  my  little  girl,  but  I  fear  I 
should  hate  her  if  she  even  spoke  to  him.  And  the 
only  reason  I  now  care  to  live  is  that  he  may  feel  dis- 
graced, every  day  and  every  hour,  by  the  knowledge 
that  I  live  the  life  I  now  do,  and  yet  act  in  all  ways 
as  though  he  were  not  even  alive." 

The  woman's  head  went  forward  between  her 
hands,  and  she  gazed  with  staring,  unseeing  eyes  upon 
the  ground.  And  the  man  rode  slowly  away,  as 
much  grieved  over  the  tale  of  Kah-noon-i-patch  as  he 
might  have  been  over  some  well-written  tale  in  a  book. 


THE  TALE  OF  BURNT-FOOT  MAIDEN    95 

That  is  all  of  the  story,  except  Mean's  side  of  it. 
And,  as  it  would  perhaps  only  still  further  convince 
us  that  there  are  many  things  about  the  characters  of 
Indians  that  are  not  understandable  by  people  whose 
skins  are  white,  it  will  be  better  to  leave  that  un- 
written. 


Luz 


THE  Santa  Cruz  mine  was  far  up  on  the  side  oi^ 
one  of  the  bare,  bleak,  burnt-looking  moun- 
tains of  the  Sierra  Madre.  The  shaft  house, 
the  mill,  the  store  building,  and  the  little  house  of  the 
superintendent  had  once  been  neatly  whitewashed; 
but  the  sun  had  stained  them  until  they  had  become  as 
dingy  as  the  hovels  of  the  natives.  There  were  some 
straggling  rowS  of  adobe  huts  occupied  by  the  Mexi- 
can miners,  a  few  corrals,  a  little  chapel,  but  rarely 
opened;  and,  besides  these  and  the  big  piles  of  dump 
rock,  there  was  only  the  sky,  the  sun,  some  vistas  of 
barrenness,  and  some  discouraged-looking  cacti  and 
evergreens.  The  mine  belonged  to  an  American  com- 
pany. Therefore,  it  worked  all  the  time.  The 
*'chulk-chulk  "  of  its  big  engines  was  never  stilled, 
and  at  all  times  ore  could  be  heard  rattling  over  the 
screens.  There  were  always  some  half-naked  babies 
playing  in  the  sand,  some  barefooted  women  slouching 
from  one  adobe  hut  to  another,  and  some  sandalled 
and  scraped  Mexicans  leaning  against  walls.  Some- 
times, after  pay-day,  there  would  be  a  i^ai/e  given  in 
one  of  the  low  adobe  houses;  and  sometimes  there 
were  fights  in  which  men  gashed  and  slashed  each 
other  with  great  knives.  Aside  from  these  things 
there  was  not  much,  and  life  was  very  dull  in  the 
mining  camp  of  Santa  Cruz. 
96 


LUZ  97 

To  this  outlandish  place,  far  from  railroad,  tele- 
graph, post-office,  clubs,  society,  and  civilization,  went 
George  Bayler,  mining  engineer  and  college  graduate, 
to  superintend  the  mines  and  manage  the  business  of 
the  mining  company.  There  were  various  reasons 
for  his  going,  one  being  that  he  was  in  love  —  he  be- 
lieved deathlessly  —  with  a  weak-faced  woman,  who 
had  thrown  him  over  to  marry  a  richer  man.  Then 
he  believed  himself  possessed  of  an  inherent  love  for 
the  solitude  and  lonehness  of  the  deserts  and  moun- 
tains. And,  also,  the  salary  of  the  superintendent  at 
Santa  Cruz  was  about  twice  as  much  as  he  could  have 
earned  in  the  States,  due  to  the  fact  that  Santa  Cruz 
was  so  desolate  and  God-forsaken  that  it  was  hard  to 
induce  competent  men  to  go  there  to  live.  So,  with 
a  two  years'  contract  in  his  pocket,  and  high  hopes  of 
a  great  success  in  his  mind,  Bayler  went  to  Santa 
Cruz.  It  may  be  as  well  to  say  that  the  real  name  of 
the  mine  was  not  Santa  Cruz,  nor  that  of  the  man 
Bayler.  This,  so  that  some  of  the  people  who  know 
the  Sierra  Madre  may  not  fasten  the  story  to  the 
wrong  man. 

Bayler  found  that  Santa  Cruz  was  a  sullen  place, 
with  sullen  surroundings,  and  that  the  people  were 
sullen  among  themselves,  although  they  almost  fell 
down  and  kissed  the  ground  he  walked  upon,  knowing 


98  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

from  past  experience  that  favor  with  the  superintend- 
ent meant  the  overlooking  of  shortcomings,  many  in- 
vitations to  drink,  and  occasional  presents  of  small 
sums  of  money.  But  for  a  fev^  wrecks  the  place, 
being  so  different  from  any  he  had  knovsm  before, 
possessed  a  certain  interest  for  him.  Then  there  came 
a  time  when  the  novelty  was  worn  off;  and,  after  he 
had  superintended  the  workings  of  the  mine  and  mill 
and  checked  up  his  accounts,  all  that  was  left  him  to 
do  was  to  read  newspapers  a  week  old,  gaze  upon  the 
changeless  sky,  and  curse  Santa  Cruz  and  its  people. 
There  was  absolutely  no  congenial  companionship  for 
him  in  the  place.  The  storekeeper  was  an  Irishman, 
who  dwelt  with  a  dusky  daughter  of  the  soil,  and 
liked  Santa  Cruz  as  well  as  he  would  have  liked  any 
other  place  in  the  world.  The  book-keeper  was  an 
American,  who  dwelt  with,  and  as  did,  the  Mexicans, 
drank  vile  mescal  in  frightful  quantities,  and  was  no 
more  company  for  Bayler  than  though  he  had  been 
deaf  and  dumb.  Aside  from  these  there  were  only 
the  ignorant  Mexicans  of  the  peon  class  and  some 
dirty  Indians  who  occasionally  came  to  the  camp. 
And  when  things  with  Bayler  were  at  their  worst, 
and  he  was  seriously  considering  an  easy  way  of 
suicide,  Manuel  Zepada,  the  head  ore-sorter,  remarked 
to  him    that   his   step-daughter,  Luz,  was   as   beautiful 


LUZ 


99 


as  the  picture  of  a  saint;  and  he  asked  Bayler  why  he 
dwelt  in  loneliness  when  the  camp  was  full  of  women 
who  had  no  husbands. 

Bayler  swore  at  him;  and  Zepada  skulked  away, 
his  hat  in  his  hand. 

But  one  hot  afternoon  the  girl  Luz  went  to  Bayler's 
house,  where  he  was  sitting,  moodily  wondering  why 
he  had  ever  consented  to  immure  himself  in  such  an 
outlandish  and  unlovely  place. 

"  Seiior  Superintendent,  I  am  Luz,  the  step-daugh- 
ter of  Zepada,  the  ore-sorter, ' '  said  the  girl,  standing 
shyly  before  Bayler. 

*'Um!  "   said  Bayler,  scarcely  looking  at  her. 

**  I  am  sixteen  years  old,  and  I  have  never  had  a 
lover,"  artlessly  announced  the  dusky  maid. 

This  was  an  odd  statement,  and  it  rather  interested 
Bayler.  So  he  looked  hard  at  the  girl,  and  said, 
''Well?" 

'*Jose  Aguilar  seeks  to  take  me  for  his  wife,"  con- 
tinued the  girl,  nervously  fingering  the  edge  of  her 
tattered  reboso;  **  but  my  mother  says  that,  while  I  am 
young  and  pretty,  I  should  have  more  joy  in  my  life 
than  I  would  have  with  Jose.  She  says  that  I  am 
very  pretty,  and  that  it  might  be  that  you  would 
like  me." 

**  The  devil!"  said  Bayler.  "What  are  you 
driving  at?  " 


loo  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

**  I  am  sixteen  years  old,  and  I  hav^e  never  had  a 
lover,"  repeated  the  girl,  drawing  nearer  to  the  man. 
**  I  am  more  beautiful  than  any  other  girl  in  Santa 
Cruz  or  for  many  miles  from  Santa  Cruz.  I  know- 
not  how  beautiful  are  the  white  women  who  dwell  in 
the  land  that  is  your  home,  but  here  I  am  the  most 
beautiful.  And  my  mother,  and  Zepada,  her  husband, 
have  talked  to  me;  and  they  have  said  that  it  might 
please  you  if  I  came  here  to  dwell  with  you, —  to  cook 
for  you  and  keep  your  house,  and  to  soothe  you  to 
rest  after  the  toil  of  the  day.  Would  that  please  you, 
Sefior?  ** 

Bayler  comprehended  the  proposition  the  girl  was 
trying  to  make,  and  curtly  ordered  her  to  return  to 
her  own  home  and  put  such  thoughts  out  of  her  head. 
And,  with  a  gentle  buenas  tardesy  she  went  away. 

Then  Bayler' s  thoughts  went  rushing  back  to  the 
woman  he  had  loved  and  lost,  and  again  he  pondered 
upon  methods  of  suicide.  The  next  morning,  after 
the  work  in  the  mine  was  well  under  way,  he  walked 
past  the  jacal  of  the  Zepadas;  and  Luz  gave  him  a 
bright  smile  from  the  doorway. 

In  the  afternoon  Luz  went  again  to  Bayler' s  house, 
and  this  time  he  asked  her  to  be  seated.  She  looked 
smilingly  full  into  his  face,  and  asked, — 

**  Has  the  Senor  thought  more  of  the  matter  of 
which   I   spoke  on  yesterday?" 


LUZ  loi 

**  Look  here,  girl,  what  is  it  you  have  in  your  head? 
Are  you  asking  me  to  marry  you?  " 

**  No,  Sefior,  no,"  answered  the  girl,  smilingly. 
**  Zepada,  my  step-father,  says  that  the  Americans 
will  not  wed  with  the  women  of  our  kind;  but  he  says 
often  they  take  them  to  dwell  with  as  companions.  I 
seek  only  to  dwell  with  you  in  this  house,  to  work  for 
you,  to  nurse  you  if  you  are  sick,  and  to  make  the 
time  happier  for  you  than  it  now  is." 

Then  the  Anglo-Saxon  moral  principles  of  Bayler 
came  to  the  surface. 

"Why,  girl,"  he  said,  *'you  do  not  know  what 
you  propose  !  You  are  little  more  than  a  child;  and 
I  hear  no  evil  reports  about  you  among  the  chattering 
men  of  the  place,  so  it  must  be  that  you  do  not  realize 
what  you  say." 

*' You  hear  no  evil  of  me  because  I  do  no  evil. 
And,  if  you  will  take  me  to  dwell  with  you,  I  will  be 
so  happy  that  as  long  as  I  live  I  will  remember  the 
time  spent  with  you  as  the  best  time  of  my  life.  See! 
Am  I  not  comely?  My  hands  are  soft,  and  my  arms 
are  round,  and  my  eyes  are  bright,  and  my  hair  is  not 
so  coarse  as  the  hair  of  the  other  women,  although  it 
is  longer.  And  I  am  clean,  and  my  garments  are 
clean;  and  I  can  cook  as  well  as  though  I  were  a 
grandmother.      Do  you  not  think  you  would  be  hap- 


I02  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

pier  and  more  free  from  loneliness  if  I  dwelt  here 
with  you?  " 

After  all,  the  girl's  proposition  was  rather  compli- 
mentary to  Bayler's  sense  of  vanity;  and  he  did  not 
chide  her.  He  told  her  she  was  mistaken  in  her 
ideas,  he  counselled  her  to  dwell  with  no  man  but  her 
wedded  husband,  and  he  strove  earnestly  to  point  out 
to  her  the  evil  of  the  course  she  contemplated.  Then, 
as  he  felt  sorry  for  her,  he  gave  her  a  present  of  ten 
dollars,  and  sent  her  away. 

Luz  took  the  ten  dollars;  and,  after  she  was  out  of 
sight  of  Bayler's  door,  she  pressed  the  money  to  her 
bosom,  and  ran  swiftly  to  her  own  home.  The  next 
morning  she  stole  away  at  daybreak,  and  walked  to  the 
nearest  Mexican  town  of  any  size, —  a  full  day's  jour- 
ney away.  And  there  she  trafficked  for  bright  clothes 
and  scarlet  beads  and  some  ribbons,  and  various  arti- 
cles of  attire.  When  she  returned  home,  she  fashioned 
her  cloth  into  garments;  and  on  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  day  after  Bayler  had  given  her  the  money,  she 
again  appeared  before  him,  walking  gingerly  in  new 
shoes,  and  resplendent  in  a  bright-colored  dress. 

**  See!  "  she  said  to  him,  with  a  smile  that  showed 
all  her  white  teeth.  **  Do  not  fine  garments  make  fine 
ladies?  Am  I  not  now  more  beautiful  than  when  I 
came  to  you  in  the  old  clothes  that  were  all  I  possessed 


LUZ 


103 


before  you  gave  me  the  great  sum  of  money?  See  my 
shoes!  Are  they  not  like  those  worn  by  the  great 
white  Senoras  of  your  own  land?  And  is  not  this 
reboso  as  beautiful  as  any  you  have  ever  seen  ?  Am  I 
not  now  fair  enough  in  your  eyes  to  cause  you  to 
allow  me  to  dwell  here  with  you?  " 

The  girl  was  as  supple  and  well-formed  as  a  young 
animal.  Her  black  eyes  sparkled  as  she  spoke,  her 
red  lips  parted  in  eagerness,  her  lissome  form  swayed 
toward  Bayler;  and  she  was  a  temptation  to  the  lonely 
man  who  hated  Santa  Cruz,  and  believed  that  life  was 
not  worth  living. 

**Do  your  parents  know  of  this  mad  notion  of 
yours?  "  he  asked. 

**  I  have  no  parent  but  my  mother,  as  my  father  is 
dead,"  she  replied.  *'Zepada,  who  is  now  married 
to  my  mother,  says  it  would  be  the  best  of  good  fort- 
une if  you  will  take  me.  And  my  mother,  even 
now,  is  praying  that  you  will  look  upon  me  with 
favor;  for  my  mother  loves  me,  and  desires  that  life 
should  go  well  with  me." 

**  You  certainly  know  I  could  never  marry  you, 
do  you  not?  "   asked  the  man. 

**To  a  certainty,  Senor.  I  do  not  even  hope  that 
you  will  marry  me.  It  is  only  to  dwell  with  you, — 
that  is   all   I   desire.      And   I   will  be  very  good.      I 


I04  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

will  never  drink  of  the  mescal,  nor  of  the  aguardiente, 
and  I  will  be  as  faithful  to  you  as  though  I  were  your 
dog." 

**  But  I  shall  dwell  in  Santa  Cruz  but  for  a  few 
months;  and  then  I  shall  go  away,  and  never  return 
again.  And,  of  course,  I  shall  have  to  leave  you 
here;  for  I  could  not  take  you  among  my  own 
people." 

**  It  is  well,  Senor.  I  understand  fully.  I  seek 
but  to  be  with  you  while  you  dwell  in  Santa  Cruz; 
and,  when  you  are  gone  again  to  your  own  people,  I 
know  that  I  shall  never  see  you  again." 

<*  But  your  life  would  then  be  ruined.  After 
dwelling  with  me,  no  man  would  marry  you;  and  the 
remaining  years  of  your  life  would  not  be  worth 
living,"    said  Bayler. 

**Ah,  the  Senor  does  not  understand,"  said  the 
girl.  **  Among  your  people  it  may  be  different,  but 
here  at  Santa  Cruz  I  should  be  thought  no  less  of  after 
you  were  gone." 

*'  But,  when  I  go  away,  never  to  return,  then 
what  would  you  do?  " 

**  Quien  sabe,  Senor?  At  first  I  would  go  again 
to  dwell  with  my  mother.  But  there  are  many  men 
at  Santa  Cruz,  and  I  think  soon  one  of  them  would 
take  me  to  dwell  with  him.  For  I  am  now  a  woman, 
and  am  old  enough  to  dwell  away  from   my  mother." 


LUZ  105 

Bayler  argued  and  objected.  He  was  striving  to 
justify  himself  to  himself,  so  that,  when  in  after  years 
his  conscience  might  smite  him,  he  might  say  to  him- 
self that  he  had  done  all  that  a  man  could  do  to  show 
the  woman  the  error  of  her  way.  And,  finally,  he 
said:  — 

<*  I  will  not  do  this  thing.  I  should  be  doing  you 
a  great  wrong,  and  I  will  not." 

**A  wrong?"  replied  the  girl.  *' Why,  Senor, 
you  would  be  granting  me  the  greatest  happiness  I 
shall  ever  know.  My  life  now  is  a  poor  life,  and  I 
have  never  known  anything  better.  Zapada  spends 
much  of  his  wage  for  strong  drink,  and  often  we  have 
not  enough  food  in  our  house  to  satisfy  our  hunger. 
My  clothes  are  always  of  the  poorest;  and,  when  I  get 
a  new  garment,  I  know^  not  how  long  it  will  be  until 
I  can  hope  to  get  another.  I  have  no  money,  and 
often  I  am  cursed  and  badly  used.  With  you  I 
should  have  good  food,  and  I  should  never  know 
hunger.  I  should  have  the  finest  of  garments, —  like 
these  adorable  ones  I  bought  with  your  blessed  money. 
I  should  not  have  hard  work,  and  I  would  have  much 
time  to  comfort  you  and  bring  smiles  to  your  sad  face. 
Senor,  friend,  take  me.  I  will  do  you  no  harm;  and, 
if  you  will  take  me,  you  will  make  me  happier  than  I 
shall  ever  be  in  any  other  way.      And  I  have  learned 


io6  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

to  love  you,  friend  of  mine.  Your  white  skin  and 
your  fair  hair  are  very  dear  in  my  eyes,  and  our  sainted 
Lady  of  Guadalupe  could  grant  me  no  greater  joy  then 
that  of  loving  you  and  being  loved  by  you." 

**But,  if  you  learned  to  love  me,  would  it  not  be 
all  the  worse  for  you  after  I  am  gone?  Would  it  not 
be  better  for  you  to  put  all  thoughts  of  me  out  of  your 
life  now,  before  it  is  too  late?  " 

**Ah,  dear  friend,  if  you  do  not  take  me,  I  shall 
be  always  miserable.  But,  if  you  allow  me  to  come 
here,  I  shall  have  one  year  or  two  years  of  joy;  and 
all  the  after  years  will  be  happier  because  of  the  mem- 
ory of  the  time  I  dwelt  with  you  and  loved  you. 
Take  me,  Senor.  I  love  you,  and  I  can  bring  you 
happiness.  Look  upon  me!  I  am  young.  I  am 
beautiful.  My  kisses  shall  soothe  you  when  you  are 
unhappy,  and  my  presence  shall  keep  loneliness  from 
you." 

She  crept  to  his  side,  impulsively  put  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  and  kissed  him  with  all  the  fervor  known  to 
her  half-wild  blood.  And  the  man  was  tempted  by 
the  woman,  and  he  fell. 

For  eighteen  months  Bayler  dwelt  in  barbaric  bliss. 
He  learned  to  love  the  brown-skinned  Luz,  and  she 
was  as  devoted  to  him  as  though  he  had  been  a  being 
to  be  worshipped.      And  then  the  term  of  his  engage- 


LUZ  107 

ment  to  the  mining  company  came  to  an  end.  He 
refused  another  contract  at  a  higher  salary,  and  one 
day  he  told  Luz  that  the  time  had  come  for  him  to 
return  to  his  own  country. 

A  look  like  that  which  hunters  see  in  the  eyes  of 
wounded  deer  came  into  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Mexican 
girl.  She  clutched  at  her  side,  her  breath  came  hard, 
and  she  almost  swooned. 

"Will  not  the  great  company  keep  you  here  in 
charge  of  the  mine  if  you  will  stay?  "  she  asked. 

**  I  could  stay,  for  it  is  difficult  to  get  men  to  come 
here,  and  the  company  would  give  me  greater  pay  if 
I  would  remain  ;  but  I  will  not  stay.  I  am  yet 
young,  my  life  is  before  me,  and  I  must  not  waste  my 
years  in  these  barren  mountains.  I  must  go.  It  is 
sad  to  leave  you,  little  sweet  one;  but  you  know  we 
talked  of  all  that  in  the  beginning." 

"You  must  not,  must  not  go,"  said  the  girl,  clasp- 
ing him  about  the  neck.  "  I  should  die  if  you  were 
to  go  and  leave  me  here." 

"I  must  go,  Luz,"  answered  the  man.  "I  owe 
it  to  myself  and  to  my  friends  not  to  live  here  longer." 

"  Then  will  you  take  me  with  you?  You  can  keep 
me  in  hiding.  None  of  your  people  need  ever  see 
me  or  know  that  I  exist.  All  that  I  ask  is  that  you 
will  come  to  me  sometimes,  and  will  love  me  as  you 
love  me  now." 


io8  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

**  It  cannot  be,  little  girl.  Our  life  together  must 
now  come  to  an  end.  And  you  know  we  talked  it 
all  over  in  the  beginning." 

**In  the  beginning  it  was  different,"  said  the  girl, 
almost  fiercely.  **  In  the  beginning  I  sought  only  the 
shelter  of  your  house,  the  food  of  your  table,  the  gar- 
ments and  comforts  your  money  would  buy.  But 
now  I  love  you!  You  are  dearer  to  me  than  my 
faith,  than  my  life,  than  my  hope  for  Paradise!  You 
must  not  go!  You  shall  not  go!  If  you  strive  to 
leave  me,  I  will  stab  myself  in  the  heart,  and  fall 
dead  at  your  feet;  and  the  memory  of  my  death  and 
its  cause  shall  haunt  you  through  every  day  and  every 
hour  of  your  life.  You  must  not  go  from  me,  for  I 
cannot  live  without  you." 

The  girl's  words  ended  in  a  piteous  wail,  and  the 
man  was  sorely  disturbed.  He  felt  like  a  murderer, 
yet  he  knew  that  he  must  abide  by  his   determination. 

**  There  is  no  other  way,  sweetheart,"  he  said. 
**  I  love  you,  and  you  know  I  love  you;  and  it  will 
be  hard  for  me,  too.  But  we  are  of  different  races 
and  of  different  blood,  and  w^e  must  from  now  on  live 
apart.      There  is  no  other  way." 

The  girl  stared  silently  at  him  for  a  moment,  her 
dark  eyes  dilating  and  her  lips  compressing  rigidly. 
Then  she  said:  — 


LUZ  109 

**  You  will  wed  some  cold  white  woman,  some 
woman  whose  blood  is  as  water,  and  who  knows  not 
the  meaning  of  love.  Away  from  me,  after  having 
known  my  love,  you  will  be  miserable.  Come,  dear 
heart  of  my  heart,  promise  you  will  remain  with  me." 

She  twined  her  arms  about  the  man,  pressed  her 
wet  cheek  to  his,  and  looked  appealingly  into  his  face. 
But  he  shook  her  from  him,  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
said:  — 

**  It  must  be  as  I  have  said,  Luz.  There  is  no 
other  way." 

The  girl  glared  at  him  for  a  moment  like  a  maniac. 
She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  spring  that  was  as  swift  as 
that  of  a  panther.  She  got  between  him  and  the 
door,  drew  a  stiletto  from  her  belt,  and  stood  over 
him  like  a  fury. 

**  There  is  another  way,"  she  hissed.  **  I  belong 
to  you,  and  you  belong  to  me.  I  am  yours,  body 
and  soul,  present  and  future;  and  you  are  also  mine. 
You  have  made  me  love  you  as  woman  never  loved  a 
man;  you  have  made  me  worship  you  as  though  you 
were  a  saint;  you  have  made  every  drop  of  my  life's 
blood  yearn  for  you,  every  thought  of  my  brain  turn 
to  you,  every  hope  of  my  life  cling  to  you.  And 
now  you  shall  not  leave  me.  If  you  will  abide  here 
with  me,  all  shall  be  well,  and  never  again,  in  all  my 


ADOBELAND    STORIES 


life,  will  I  turn  upon  you.  Or,  if  you  will  go  and 
take  me  with  you,  I  will  dwell  in  solitude  and  poverty 
as  your  slave,  if  you  will  but  see  me  sometimes,  when 
I  can  no  longer  bear  to  be  away  from  you.  But  if 
you  do  not  say  you  will  not  go  and  leave  me  here, 
utterly  alone,  this  day  shall  be  the  last  that  you  and  I 
shall  live.  This  knife  shall  pierce  your  heart,  and, 
when  you  have  died  in  my  arms,  with  my  kisses  upon 
your  lips,  then  will  1  also  kill  myself  and  lie  dead  by 
your  side.  Speak  quickly!  What  will  you  do?  I 
do  not  now  control  my  own  acts,  and  you  must 
speak." 

The  man  knew  something  of  the  fierceness  of 
Mexican  souls,  and  he  realized  that  he  was  nearer  to 
his  death  than  he  had  ever  been  before.  And  all  at 
once  he  came  to  know  that  life  is  very  sweet,  and  that 
it  is  not  good  for  a  young  man  to  be  hurled  into  eter- 
ity  with  the  quickness  of  a  flash  of  lightning.  His 
cheek  blanched,  for  a  moment  he  could  not  speak; 
and  then  he  decided  to  deceive  the  girl,  and  to  gain 
his  point  by  craft. 

"Would  you  kill  me,  sweetheart?  "  he  asked  in  a 
shaky  voice, — *'  me,  who  loves  you  better  than  I  love 
anything  else  in  all  the  world?  I  would  not  part 
from  you,  dear  one.  I  could  not  part  from  you.  I 
see  and  know  how  dear  I  am   to  you;   and,  love,  you 


LUZ  1 1 1 

are  dearer  to  me  than  I  will  ever  be  to  you.  I  was 
but  trying  your  love  for  me.  I  would  not  go  away 
and  leave  you." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  fierce  longing  in  her 
eyes.  Slowly  her  stiletto  dropped.  Her  face  became 
tense;  and  the  lines  about  her  mouth  were  drawn,  as 
though  from  much  weeping. 

**  What  will  you  do,  then?"  she  asked.  **  Will 
you  abide  here  with  me?  " 

*<  No,  sweet  one,  I  will  abide  no  longer  at  Santa 
Cruz.  I  will  return  to  the  land  of  my  own  people, 
and  there  prepare  a  home  for  you.  And  then  I  will 
return  for  you,  and  take  you  with  me;  and  we  shall 
dwell  with  each  other  forever.  It  will  be  much 
better  for  us  there  than  here.  We  shall  have  a  fine 
house,  with  soft  carpets  on  the  floor  and  fine  curtains 
at  the  windows;  and  you  shall  always  be  dressed  in 
such  garments  as  were  never  even  heard  of  in  Santa 
Cruz.      And  I  will  love  you  all  the  days  of  my  life." 

**  You  will  return  for  me?  You  will  not  deceive 
me?"   asked  the  girl. 

**  I  will  return  for  you.  I  will  not  deceive  you," 
replied  the  man. 

**Then,  my  loved  one,  my  hfe,  forgive  me  for  my 
anger.  I  love  you  so  much,  so  much!  I  could  not 
live  without   you,  and  I  was   crazed   when   I    thought 


112  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

of  losing  you.  But  never  again  shall  you  see  me  in 
anger.      Kiss  mc,  dear  one,  and  say  you  forgive  me." 

The  next  day  Bayler  took  his  departure,  riding  a 
mule  down  the  steep  trail  that  led  from  the  mountain- 
side to  the  valley  below.  There  was  a  foot-path 
down  the  mountain  also,  and  the  way  down  this 
foot-trail  was  much  nearer.  It  joined  the  other  trail 
a  couple  of  miles  from  the  hamlet;  and,  when  Bayler 
came  to  the  place  where  the  ways  came  together,  he 
found  Luz  awaiting  him,  she  having  run  down  while 
he  rode  around  the  longer  way. 

*'Why,  Luz,  why  are  you  here  }  It  is  so  sad  to 
say  farewell  that  we  should  have  to  say  it  but  once," 
said  the  man. 

Luz  grasped  the  bridle,  as  though  fearful  that  he 
would  put  spurs  to  his  mule   and   ride  away  from  her. 

**  When  you  were  gone,"  she  said,  **  all  at  once  I 
knew  what  it  means  to  be  alone.  It  is  terrible,  loved 
one, —  so  terrible  that  I  fear  it  will  kill  me.  The 
sky  seemed  to  hang  just  over  the  earth,  the  air 
seemed  to  close  about  me  and  suiFocate  me,  the  blood 
seemed  to  stop  flowing  in  my  veins,  and  it  was  as 
though  the  very  world  itself  were  dead.  Dismount, 
dear  one;   for  I  would  look  into  your  eyes." 

Bayler  dismounted.  The  girl  took  his  pale  face 
in   her  hands,   reverently,   as   though    he   had   been   a 


LUZ  113 

sacred  thing.  And  she  peered  into  his  eyes  as  though 
she  were  strivdng  to  read  the  inmost  secrets  of  his 
soul. 

**  Your  eyes  look  true,"  she  said.  *'I  believe  that 
you  have  told  me  the  truth;  and  now  I  will  believe 
that  you  will  return  to  me,  and  take  me  with  you  as 
you  have  promised.  Now  farewell,  my  loved  one. 
May  the  Virgin  and  the  saints  guard  you !  ' ' 

The  man's  eyes  were  damp.  He  kissed  the  girl, 
strained  her  to  his  breast,  remounted  his  mule,  and 
slowly  rode  down  the  sandy  trail.  And  all  the  time 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  but  scant  justice  if  a  thunder- 
bolt should  drop  out  of  heaven  and  shrivel  him  to 
death  for  the  lie  he  had  told  to  the  woman  who  loved 
him  better  than  she  loved  the  welfare  of  her  own 
soul;  for  he  never  intended  to  look  into  her  face 
again  as  long  as  he  lived. 

Luz  dwelt  on  in  the  little  sun-baked  adobe  hamlet 
that  lay  by  the  Santa  Cruz  mine.  Sometimes  she  sat 
for  hours,  silent  and  alone,  leaning  against  the  gray 
w^all  of  her  httle  house,  and  staring  away  over  the 
valley  wnth  wide,  unmoving,  unseeing  eyes.  And, 
again,  she  drank  mescal,  and  shouted  and  shrieked 
through  the  little  street,  and  terrorized  those  whom 
she  met.  But  no  harm  befell  her;  and  the  people 
were  always  kind  to  her,  for  they  said  that  she  was 
crazed. 


An  Indian's  Revenge 

SAN  ANTONIO  was  the  modernized  name  of 
the  second  son  of  Mah-kotch-ah-wuh,  the  chief 
of  the  Spotted  Fawn  people  of  the  Ute  nation, 
and  one  of  the  medicine  men  of  his  tribe.  The  chief 
had  another  and  older  son,  who  was  a  much  greater 
source  of  pride  to  him  than  San  Antonio;  for  the  elder 
son  took  a  wife  when  he  was  very  young,  and  it  was 
not  long  until  he  took  another,  which  showed  that  he 
revered  the  ancient  customs  of  his  people.  Also,  he 
was  deeply  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  po-o-kante,  or 
magic,  practised  by  the  medicine  men;  and  he  had 
advanced  until  he  was  the  initiate,  who,  upon  the 
death  of  the  head  medicine  man,  would  succeed  to 
that  high  office.  It  had  been  the  chief's  ambition  for 
one  of  his  sons  to  succeed  him  as  chief,  and  for  the 
other  to  become  head  medicine  man  of  the  tribe;  but, 
as  San  Antonio  showed  no  ambition,  the  chief  began 
striving  and  plotting  so  that  his  eldest  son  might  hold 
both  offices. 

The  chief  knew  that  the  ways  of  life  for  his  people 
were  changing;  and  he  realized  that  it  would  not  be 
many  years  until  all  the  old-time  freedom  of  the  Ind- 
ians would  be  known  of  only  in  tales  and  traditions, 
and  that  a  new  era,  either  for  good  or  bad,  was 
dawning  for  his  people.  So  his  eldest  son,  who  v/as 
114 


AN  INDIAN'S  REVENGE  115 

initiate,  and  would  in  time  be  both  priest  and  chief, 
was  sent  away  to  a  government  school  to  learn  the 
language  of  the  whites.  Often,  in  talking  to  his  son, 
the  chief  told  him  that  he  must  learn  all  possible  things 
from  the  whites;  for  they  had  become  the  rulers  of  the 
land,  and  they  were  so  many  in  numbers  that  they 
never  could  be  driven  away.  This  chief  grieved  be- 
cause he  had  been  born  too  late  to  live  out  his  life  in 
the  wild,  free  way  that  his  fathers  lived,  and  too  soon 
for  him  to  master  the  great  knowledge  of  the  white 
conquerors.  When  he  was  a  youth  in  his  tribe,  there 
were  no  white  men  in  his  country,  and  his  people 
roamed  and  hunted  and  fought  over  a  vast  region 
that  they  claimed  as  their  own.  Then  the  pale  faces 
had  come  from  over  the  Eastern  plains  in  swarms, 
like  locusts;  and  the  lands  of  his  tribe  had  been  taken 
by  the  invaders,  and  his  people  had  been  penned 
upon  a  reservation  that  gradually  grew  smaller  until 
a  few  square  miles  of  land  were  all  that  was  left  to 
them.  An  agency  had  been  established,  and  even 
a  railroad  had  stretched  its  long  steel  miles  across  the 
lands  that  were  left  to  the  Indians. 

In  his  youth  the  old  man  had  been  a  great  warrior; 
and  in  the  few  years  that  had  elapsed  between  his 
birth  and  the  coming  of  the  whites  he  had  made  his 
name  respected  and  feared,  not  alone  in  his  own  tribe. 


ii6  ADOBELAND    STORIES 

but  in  all  the  tribes  that  occupied  the  surrounding 
countries.  By  sheer  bravery  he  had  risen  among  his 
people;  and  one  time,  when  with  a  little  band  of 
buffalo  hunters  he  and  the  chief  of  the  tribe  were 
hemmed  in  by  a  marauding  band  of  Comanches,  the 
old  chief  had  surrendered  his  office  to  him,  and  begged 
him  to  strive  to  win  the  battle.  The  odds  were  fear- 
ful; yet  the  brave  words  and  braver  actions  of  Mah- 
kotch-ah-wuh  so  spurred  the  courage  of  his  comrades 
that  they  defeated  their  foemen,  who  outnumbered 
them  ten   to  one. 

But  all  that  had  gone  into  the  past;  and  Mah-kotch- 
ah-wuh  was  dwelling  in  a  little  board  house,  behind 
which  were  fields  that  were  planted  and  tilled  by 
himself  and  his  wives.  He  could  not  become  great 
as  a  war  chief,  so  he  studied  magic.  And,  as  with 
many  disappointed  white  men,  it  had  come  to  be  that 
his  chief  hope  was  centred  in  his  sons. 

The  elder  son  was  a  joy  to  his  father's  soul. 
There  were  no  wars  in  which  he  might  win  distinc- 
tion; but  the  vigilance  of  the  white  soldiers  had  once 
or  twice  been  evaded,  and  raids  made  upon  neighbor- 
ing tribes.  After  one  of  these  raids  the  tribesmen 
said  that  Mah-kotch-ah-wuh  might  name  his  own  suc- 
cessor as  chief,  suggesting  that  he  name  his  eldest 
son.      And   the   chief  was    glad,  and   worked   all   the 


AN  INDIAN'S  REVENGE  117 

harder  to  secure  honor  among  his  own  people  for  his 
son. 

San  Antonio,  who  was  several  years  younger,  was 
a  thorn  in  his  father's  side.  He  would  not  go  away 
to  the  schools.  He  would  not  study  po-o-kante. 
When  the  men  went  away  on  the  great  annual  deer 
hunt,  San  Antonio  stayed  at  home  with  the  women 
and  the  old  men,  saying  that  he  was  not  yet  full 
grown,  and  would  hunt  when  he  became  a  man. 
Yet  the  boy  was  well  treated  in  the  tribe;  for  he  was 
the  son  of  a  chief,  and  a  chief  who  brooked  no  insults 
for  himself  or  his  family. 

San  Antonio  grew  until  he  was  a  large  boy  or  a 
half-grown  man,  yet  he  played  always  with  the 
smaller  children.  The  agency  had  become  firmly 
rooted,  and  some  of  its  buildings  were  beginning  to 
show  age.  A  trader's  store  had  been  established;  and 
many  of  the  Indians  had  almost  forgotten  that  once 
they  rode,  free  hunters  and  warriors,  over  the  wide 
confines  of  the  land  they  claimed,  and  that  no  tribe 
was  known  that  could  conquer  them.  Now  they 
lived  chiefly  upon  rations  doled  out  to  the  squaws  by 
government  agents,  and  they  sat  around  under  the 
trees  by  the  trader's  store  and  played  monte  instead 
of  hunting  and  fighting  across  the  plains  and  among 
the  mountains. 


i8  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


One  day  a  party  of  men  were  sitting  around  a 
blanket,  playing  Mexican  monte  for  small  sums  of 
money  and  trinkets.  An  exciting  play  was  being 
made,  and  the  dealer  was  utterly  absorbed  in  the 
game.  As  he  was  stooping  forward,  looking  intently 
at  the  stakes  before  him,  San  Antonio  crept  up  be- 
hind him,  and  pushed  him  forward  on  his  face.  The 
man  arose  in  anger  and  threatened  the  boy,  while  the 
others  guffawed  and  laughed  as  though  it  were  a  good 
joke.  San  Antonio,  thinking  he  had  done  a  bright 
thing,  stole  away  to  the  little  river  that  ran  near,  filled 
an  old  can  with  water,  and,  returning,  he  crept  up  be- 
hind the  man  he  had  pushed,  and  poured  the  muddy 
water  down  his  neck.  Enraged,  the  man  arose,  gave 
the  boy  chase,  and  caught  him. 

**  Let  me  go!  Let  me  go!  "  howled  the  boy.  **  I 
am  a  boy,  and  you  are  a  man;  and  you  are  a  coward 
to  fight  me!  " 

**  I  will  let  you  go  if  you  will  promise  to  behave," 
said  the  man. 

'*!  will  promise  nothing,  you  dog!"  howled  the 
boy,  viciously  kicking  the  man.  **You  dare  do 
nothing  to  me.  My  father  is  chief;  and,  if  you  hurt 
me,  he  will  kill  you.  You  are  a  fool  and  a  coyote 
and  a  coward,  and  you  dare  not  hurt  me  for  fear  of 
my  father!  " 


AN  INDIAN'S  REVENGE 


**I  fear  not  your  father,"  said  the  man,  who  was 
becoming  more  and  more  enraged.  "  Unless  he  is  a 
fool,  he  would  not  fight  me  for  whipping  one  so  bad  as 
you.  And,  then,  he  dare  not  try  to  harm  me.  He 
once  was  chief,  and  we  all  had  to  bow  to  his  com- 
mand. But  now  the  Ta-ta  rules  here,  and  he  rules 
your  father  as  much  as  he  rules  me.  Your  father 
now  is  but  a  headman,  and  we  have  no  chiefs  but  the 
white  people." 

**  You  lie!"  shouted  the  boy,  biting  the  man's 
hand. 

Sorely  goaded,  the  man  took  his  heavy  cowhide 
quirt  and  soundly  whipped  the  boy,  who  writhed  and 
shrieked  and  cursed  in  his  grasp.  As  soon  as  he  was 
freed,  San  Antonio  sped  away  down  the  valley,  not 
saying  to  any  one  where  he  was  going. 

His  father  had  gone  that  morning  to  visit  an  old 
Indian  who  was  sick  in  his  tent  far  down  the  valley; 
and  San  Antonio  was  running  to  meet  him  on  his  re- 
turn, and  tell  him  of  the  beating  he  had  received,  and 
of  the  insults  his  abuser  had  cast  even  upon  the  chief. 

The  chief  rode  up  the  valley,  his  head  bent  low  in 
thought.  He  had  been  to  visit  old  White-Eye,  an 
old  man  who  had  been  in  his  maturity  when  Mah- 
kotch-ah-wuh  was  a  boy,  and  who  had  been  one  of 
the  first  to  hail  him  as   chief  on   that  fateful  dav  when 


I20  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


the  little  band  of  buffalo  hunters   had   so  valiantly  de- 
fended themselves  against  the  great  war  party. 

*'  White-Eye  w\\\  soon  pass  to  the  Happy  Hunting 
Grounds  in  the  sun,"  mused  the  chief,  half  aloud. 
**  The  number  of  his  days  is  almost  told;  and,  before 
the  stepping  leaves  of  the  winter  are  being  blown 
across  the  valley,  he  will  have  joined  Seh-now-wufF 
and  our  fathers  in  the  land  where  there  is  no  death. 
To  see  him  sick  in  his  tent  reminds  me  that  I,  too, 
am  growing  old.  I  seem  not  to  remember  the  dull 
years  as  they  pass  along,  one  after  another,  like  white 
soldiers  as  they  march.  When  I  was  young,  ah! 
then  were  the  days  and  the  years  both  fast  and  slow. 
Every  day  I  lived  as  much  as  I  now  live  in  a  year, 
and  yet  the  years  were  so  full  of  joy  that  each  seemed 
no  longer  than  a  day.  And  then  the  white-faced 
people  came, —  the  great  Merikotch  race,  before 
whom  no  people  can  stand.  Those  people  must 
be  the  children  of  Yo-woy-witch,  the  Evil  Spirit. 
They  are  not  strong  and  hardy  and  enduring,  like 
men,  but  are  soft  and  ease-loving  and  luxurious,  like 
babes.  They  shiver  if  the  cold  blows  upon  them. 
They  must  be  served,  like  those  who  have  broken 
limbs;  they  must  be  swaddled  in  warm  clothing,  like 
sucklings.  Yet,  with  all  their  weaknesses  and  follies, 
they  are  far   greater  than    even   my  own  great  people; 


AN  INDIAN^S  REVENGE  121 

and,  if  we  had  not  submitted  to  them,  they  would 
ere  this  have  driven  us  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
They  are  greater  than  we,  because  they  know  so 
many  things  that  are  unknown  to  us.  They  im- 
plant their  strange  knowledge  in  books;  and  thus  it  is 
passed,  fresh  and  unchanged,  from  one  to  another. 
Well,  I  wish  they  had  not  come  until  my  hairs  were 
gray,  and  I  was  done  with  the  things  of  life.  Before 
they  came,  my  people  had  an  empire.  Our  lands 
stretched  from  the  barren  lands  of  the  south  to  the 
great  rolling  buffalo  pastures  of  the  north,  and  from 
the  wide  plains  of  the  east  across  the  tall  mountains  to 
the  desert  in  the  west.  Over  that  land  I  would  have 
ruled.  My  people  should  have  been  the  greatest  of 
all  the  Indian  nations  in  the  world,  and  my  name 
should  have  gone  down  in  the  legends  of  my  nation 
as  the  bravest  and  wisest  of  all  the  chiefs  that  ever 
ruled  our  allied  tribes.  But  I  could  no  more  stand 
against  the  whites  than  a  child  can  stand  against  a 
hurricane.  It  might  be  that  I  should  be  happier  if 
the  whites  had  come  generations  ago,  so  that  I, 
too,  might  have  tried  to  learn  of  their  wondrous 
knowledge,  and  so  have  ruled  my  people  by  craft  and 
knowledge  instead  of  by  bravery.  But  to  my  sons  I 
will  have  the  new  knowledge  taught;  and  they  may, 
in  after  years,  be  as   I  would  like  to   be.      My  sons! 


122  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

Better  had  I  say  my  son,  for  San  Antonio  is  worse 
than  a  woman.  He  does  no  good.  He  hates  all 
things,  even  babes  and  animals.  He  will  learn 
neither  the  new  knowledge  of  the  white-skinned  people 
nor  the  old  knowledge  that  has  come  down  to  us, 
true  and  unchanged,  since  the  time  the  Great  Spirits 
dwelt  with  us  upon  the  earth.  Ah!  to-day  I  have 
much  to  make  my  heart  unhappy.  White-Eye,  he 
who  was  at  once  my  father,  my  brother,  my  teacher, 
and  my  friend,  is  dying.  And  with  the  sad  thoughts 
of  his  waning  life  come  the  bitter  thoughts  of  the 
growing  and  useless  life  of  my  worthless  son." 

The  chief's  quick  ear  heard  a  footfall  in  the  leaves; 
and,  looking  up,  he  saw  San  Antonio  approaching 
him.  He  rode  slowly  along  until  he  met  the  boy, 
then  reined  in  his  pony,  and  said:  — 

**What  causes  you  to  walk  forth  like  an  Indian? 
Why  is  it  that  you  will  stretch  your  lazy  legs,  when 
you  might  lie  at  ease  in  your  mother's  tent  and  light 
the  babes  that  pass  her  door?  " 

San  Antonio  overlooked  the  taunt  in  his  father's 
words,  and  at  once  plunged  into  the  details  of  the 
insult  that  had  been  placed  upon  him  and  also  upon 
his  father. 

The  chief  listened,  his  black  eyes  sparkling,  as  the 
boy  told  of  the  brutal  blows  he  had  received  from  the 
quirt.      When  the  tale  was  told,  he  said:  — 


AN  INDIAN'S  REVENGE  123 

'*  San  Antonio,  your  mother  is  my  first  wife;  and 
for  many  years  she  has  dwelt  with  me.  I  took  her 
to  wife  when  she  was  but  a  shy  girl,  to  whose  eyes 
tears  would  come  if  she  were  spoken  to  by  a  man. 
I  know  that  all  her  years  she  has  been  faithful  to  me; 
but,  if  I  did  not  fully  believe  in  her,  I  would  think 
that  you  are  not  my  son,  and  that  you  were  sired  by 
some  Pah-Ute,  so  much  like  a  Pah-Ute,  or  a  snake,  or 
a  coyote,  are  you.  You  make  trouble,  and  you  have 
never  made  one  minute  of  joy  in  all  the  years  of  your 
worthless  life.  Begone  from  me,  ere  I  forget  that 
you  are  my  son,  and  strike  you  in  the  face  as  I  would 
strike  an  enemy  or  a  fool!  " 

**  But  will  you  stand  under  the  insult  that  has  been 
put  upon  your  son  and  your  family  and  yourself?  " 
whined  the  boy,  edging  away. 

**  I  will  not,'*  said  the  chief,  slowly.  **I  will 
avenge  the  insult  by  killing  him  who  insulted.  If  he 
call  upon  the  Ta-ta,  then  will  I  kill  the  Ta-ta.  And 
you, —  if  you  ever  speak  to  me  of  this  matter  again,  I 
will  spit  into  your  face  and  drive  you  forth  from  the 
tribe.      Now  begone!" 

The  chief  rode  away,  never  looking  to  see  where 
his  son  went.  As  he  rode,  his  jaws  compressed  into 
savage  firmness,  the  whites  of  his  eyes  became  blood- 
shot and  red,  and  he  wore  an  expression  from  which 


124  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

all  feelings  but  vindictiveness  had  gone.  Soon  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  agency  buildings,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment he  stopped  and  gazed  upon  them. 

**  There  they  stand,"  said  he,  *' the  houses  of 
the  white- faced  coyotes  who  have  stolen  our  lands 
and  robbed  us  of  our  manhood.  In  that  place  dwells 
their  Ta-ta, —  the  great  eater,  who  knows  no  joys 
but  those  of  his  stomach.  And  it  is  to  him  that  I 
owe  the  fact  that  the  lowest  and  meanest  of  my  tribe 
can  stand  in  public  places,  among  men  who  have  fol- 
lowed me  to  battle,  and  say  that  I  am  no  longer  a 
chief  and  that  I  am  ruled  by  a  fool  who  knows 
neither  the  wisdom  of  the  white  men  nor  the  red." 

He  savagely  spurred  his  pony  and  rode  briskly  for- 
ward, soon  coming  in  sight  of  where  the  lazy  Indians 
were  playing  monte.  He  rode  straight  to  the  men, 
and  pulled  his  pony  to  a  stop  only  a  few  feet  from 
them.  The  men  stopped  playing  and  looked  curi- 
ously at  the  stern  countenance  of  the  chief,  wonder- 
ing if  he  would  not  kill  his  insulter  without  parley. 
The  man  who  had  whipped  San  Antonio  was  uneasy. 
He  looked  over  at  the  big  log  agency  building,  and 
saw  the  agent  standing  in  front  of  his  door.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  stern,  unpitying,  set  face  of  the  man 
who  was  his  chief  and  ruler;  and,  all  at  once,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  agency   and   the  agent  were  insignifi- 


AN  INDIAN'S  REVENGE  125 

cant;  and  he  would  have  given  all  his  worldly  pos- 
sessions if  he  had  not  struck  the  chief's  son. 

*'Ho,  you,"  called  out  the  chief,  **you  who 
strike  boys  and  deride  the  chief  of  your  own  tribe, 
stand  forth ! ' ' 

The  man  detached  himself  from  the  little  crowd, 
and  stood  forth  alone.  To  him  the  government 
agency  and  the  agent  seemed  to  have  shrunk  to  mi- 
nuteness, and  the  fort  of  the  white  soldiers  seemed 
very  far  away.  He  remembered  that  he  was  a  Ute, 
and  only  a  Ute,  and  that  he  was  still  ruled  by  the 
ancient  laws  of  his  people.  And  he  trembled  as  he 
stood  before  the  stern  chief. 

In  a  tone  that  sounded  like  a  hiss  the  chief,  speak- 
ing slowly,  said:  — 

'*  There  was  a  time  when  any  man  who  desired 
the  rule  of  the  whites  to  be  above  the  rule  of  his  own 
chiefs  would  have  been  killed  by  the  tribe  as  a  traitor. 
You  have  spoken  something  of  a  truth,  though.  We 
now  are  ruled  by  the  white-faced  people,  and  we  en- 
dure our  bondage  without  murmuring.  Yet  all  true 
Utes,  in  their  hearts,  long  still  for  the  old  times  when 
we  ruled  this  land;  and  none  but  a  coward  and  a  fool 
would  vaunt  and  rejoice  because  we  are  so  fallen  that 
even  our  chiefs  are  ruled  by  white-faced  fools  who 
know  not  as  much  as  the   hopping-toads   of  the   sand- 


26  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


hills.  Yet  it  is  I,  more  than  any  other  man  or  men, 
who  have  caused  my  tribe  to  submit  to  the  new  rule 
of  the  new  owners  of  the  land.  Were  I  to  raise  my 
war-cry  now,  you  are  the  only  man  among  all  my 
people  who  would  fail  to  at  once  don  the  red  paint  of 
war  and  help  me  to  reduce  yonder  buildings  of  the 
whites  to  ashes.  We  have  submitted  to  the  new  rule 
because  it  is  best  so  to  do,  but  we  are  not  such 
craven  beasts  that  we  rejoice  in  our  captivity.  It  is 
you,  coward  and  fool,  you  alone,  who  boast  that  your 
people  have  no  chiefs!  I  deem  you  unfit  to  live.  I 
deem  you  a  disgrace  to  my  disgraced  nation.  And  I 
will  kill  you!  Not  to-day,  not  to-morrow;  but  in 
time  surely  will  I  kill  you.  You  are  a  coward  and  a 
traitor,  and  your  days  on  earth  are  numbered.  As 
you  crawl  your  mean  way  over  the  earth,  remember 
that  I  have  sworn  to  kill  you!  As  you  fight  boys  and 
women,  and  truckle  to  the  fools  who  rule  us  here, 
remember  that  I  shall  kill  you!  Your  doom  is  set, 
your  fate  is  read;  for  so  surely  as  I  live  I  shall  spill 
your  blood  upon  the  ground!  " 
.  The  chief  abruptly  turned  his  pony,  and  rode  si- 
lently up  the  valley.  The  monte  game  broke  up, 
and  old  men  told  over  again  of  the  brave  fights  of 
Mah-kotch-ah-wuh  when  he  was  young. 

**  Do  you   think   that   he  may   sound   the  war-cry. 


AN  INDIAN'S  REVENGE  127 

and   call   us    together   to    sweep  yon   hated   buildings 
from  the  face  of  the  earth  ? '  *  asked  a  young  man. 

'*!  hope  it  may  be  so,"  replied  grim  old  Nan- 
nice.  ''I  am  growing  old,  and  I  feel  like  a  wild 
eagle  that  is  penned  within  a  cage.  I  should  be  glad 
to  spill  my  blood,  and  let  loose  my  spirit,  if  my  last 
day  could  be  spent  in  warring  with  the  hated 
whites." 

The  autumn  changed  to  winter,  and  the  great 
peaks  of  the  La  Platas  were  covered  with  snow. 
The  winter  passed,  and  green  came  up  from  the 
south  and  got  into  the  leaves  of  the  aspens.  And  yet 
Mah-kotch-ah-wuh  had  never  fulfilled  his  revenge, 
and  the  gossips  of  the  tribe  began  to  wonder  if  he  had 
forgotten  the  vow  he  had  made. 

One  day  in  spring  the  man  who  had  insulted  the 
chief  was  walking  in  the  valley,  far  from  any  of  the 
huts  or  tents  of  the  people.  He  was  on  foot  and 
alone,  but  at  his  side  a  big  revolver  swung  in  a 
leather  holster.  Presently  he  saw  a  horseman  riding 
up  the  valley;  and,  as  they  came  nearer  together,  he 
saw  that  it  was  Mah-kotch-ah-wuh. 

The  chief  rode  on  stolidly  and  silently,  his  gaze 
straight  before  him;  and  the  man  began  to  believe 
that  he  would  ride  by  and  affect  not  to  see  him. 
But,  as   the  chief's  pony  came  side  by  side  with  the 


128  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


man,  Ma-kotch-ah-wuh  threw  the  reins  over  his 
pony's  head,  and  the  beast  stopped  in  its  tracks. 
The  chief  lithely  sprang  from  his  saddle,  faced  the 
man,  straightened  himself  to  his  full  height,  and 
said  :  — 

**  Long  ago  I  promised  to  you,  and  to  myself,  that 
I  would  kill  you.  I  hate  you!  I  hate  the  sight  of 
your  coward  face!  I  hate  the  ground  upon  which 
you  tread!  and  I  should  learn  to  hate  my  tribe  if  you 
longer  remained  a  part  of  it!  You  are  armed.  I 
will  fight  you  face  to  face,  man  to  man.  Now  de- 
fend! " 

The  chief  drew  his  revolver;  and  the  man  trem- 
bled, and  threw  up  his  arm,  as  though  to  defend  him- 
self from  the  bullet  that  he  knew  would  soon  seek 
him.  Then,  with  a  trembling  hand,  he  drew  his 
revolver.  If  he  had  been  quick,  he  could  have  shot 
the  chief  in  his  tracks;  but  he  was  paralyzed  with 
fear,  and  he  only  stood  and  trembled,  holding  his  big 
revolver  in  a  limp  grasp. 

The  chief  gazed  at  him  with  supreme  contempt. 
Then  again  his  eyes  became  red  and  bloodshot.  His 
face  froze  in  hardness,  and  his  figure  became  tense  and 
rigid.  He  drew  back  his  head  as  does  a  snake  when 
about  to  strike.  All  things  became  red  to  his  gaze. 
With  his  eyes  he  fastened  the  eyes  of  the  man  before 


AN  INDIAN'S  REVENGE  129 


him,  and  he  held  him  as  a  serpent  holds  a  bird.  He 
was  an  Indian  ready  for  his  kill. 

Uttering  a  shout,  he  threw  his  revolver  in  the  form 
of  a  half-circle,  and  fired  as  its  muzzle  came  even 
with  his  enemy's  breast.  There  was  a  loud  report, 
a  puff  of  smoke,  the  smell  of  burning  cloth;  and  the 
man  fell  backward.  He  was  not  killed,  for  the  chief 
had  not  intended  that. 

The  fallen  man  writhed  where  he  lay.  His  flesh 
quivered  and  jerked,  and  he  weakly  held  his  hand  over 
his  breast  as  though  to  protect  his  body  from  further 
harm. 

With  a  face  as  stern  and  pitiless  as  that  of  a  demon, 
the  chief  stood  over  the  fallen  man.  Then  he  stooped 
and  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  said:  — 

**  I  will  kill  you!  I  will  kill  you!  Your  coward 
soul  shall  wander,  shunned  and  alone,  through  the 
bad  lands  that  lie  beyond  the  true  paths!  Evil  spirits 
shall  haunt  you !  Good  spirits  shall  shun  you !  And 
with  owls  and  witches  and  evil  serpents  your  coward 
soul  shall  dwell ! ' ' 

He  fired  a  bullet  into  the  shoulder  of  the  prostrate, 
trembling  man,  then  another  into  his  neck,  another 
into  his  chest;  and  then,  with  the  writhing  face  of  a 
fiend,  he  shot  the  fallen  man  through  the  heart.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  with  his  foot  upon  the  dead  man's 


I30  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


head, —  gloating.  Then  he  trampled  the  head  into  the 
dust,  stamped  his  feet  into  the  dead  face,  and  turned 
and  went  to  his  pony. 

He  was  almost  joyous  by  the  time  he  reached  his 
home.  His  favorite  wife  was  a  woman  he  had  capt- 
ured from  an  alien  tribe  in  the  days  of  his  youth; 
and  he  called  her,  and,  as  she  sat  by  his  side,  he 
chatted  to  her,  and  laughed.  Then  he  stroked  her 
hair,  and  bade  her  farewell,  and  went  away  to  per- 
form the  medicine-making  required  of  those  who  have 
taken  human  life. 


At  the  Pu-ye  Cliffs 


"  Strange  dreams  of  what  I  used  to  be, 
And  what  I  dreamed  I  would  be,  swim 
Across  my  vision,  faint  and  dim." 

HIDDEN  in  the  heart  of  New  Mexico,  far 
from  the  pulsing  life  of  the  greater  world, 
surrounded  by  brown  hills,  barren  mesas, 
and  tufa  cliffs  and  foot-hills  that  rise  mountainward 
until  they  merge  into  the  great  peaks  that  rise  both  to 
the  east  and  west,  lies  the  Espanola  Valley,  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  and  beautiful  of  all  the  succession 
of  so-called  valleys  through  which  the  waters  of  the 
Rio  Grande  del  Norte  flow  in  all  their  long  journey 
from  the  mountain  tops  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristos  to 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  This  valley  is  a  sunland  and  a 
dreamland.  It  is  dotted  with  the  quaint  and  ancient 
pueblos  of  the  Tehua  Indians,  with  Mexican  hamlets 
and  towns,  and  with  little  fields  and  tiny  homes  that 
lie  along  the  waterways  and  the  courses  of  the  ace- 
quias.  To  the  east  the  Santa  Fe  range  is  seen,  its 
towering  peaks  whitened  with  snow  during  almost  all 
the  months  of  the  year  ;  and  running  down  from  these 
mountains  the  little  rivers  of  Santa  Cruz  and  Pojoaque 
come,  like  threads  of  silver.  To  the  north-west  the 
valley  of  the  Chama  leads  away  toward  the  brown 
lands  of  the  Apaches  ;  and,  farther  down  the  river, 
131 


132  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


the  beautiful  Santa  Clara  Valley  leads  westward,  past 
the  tiny  summer  homes  of  the  Indians,  past  the  ruined 
cliffs  where  ancient  towns  are  decaying,  on  to  the 
heart   of  the   Sierras  de  los  Valles. 

There  is  a  little  railroad  running  through  the  valley, 
—  a  quiet  railroad  enough,  but  which  is,  withal,  a 
kind  of  desecration.  The  gray  adobe  walls  of  the 
houses,  the  gloomy  moradas  of  that  strange  sect  of 
PeniteJites  which  flourishes  there,  the  old-age  life  of 
the  Indians,  and  the  pastoral  pictures  made  by  the 
herds  of  sheep  and  goats  nibbling  on  the  hills  and  in 
the  little  arroyas,  are  things  that  it  seems  should  be 
allowed  to  exist  in  their  pristinity,  without  being  dese- 
crated by  the  iron  commerce  of  the  white  invaders  of 
the  soil.  But  the  new  ways  of  the  new-comers  hav^e 
as  yet  had  but  little  effect  on  the  valley  and  its  people; 
and  the  vale  of  Espanola  will  long  remain  one  of  the 
quaintest,  as  it  will  always  be  one  of  the  loveliest  and 
most  beautiful,  of  all  the  beautiful  valleys  of  quaint, 
sun-kissed,  dreamy  old  New  Mexico. 

A  few  miles  west  of  the  valley,  a  thousand  feet 
higher  in  altitude,  there  are  tufa  cliffs  rising  sheer 
from  the  levels  of  the  canons  and  little  mountain 
parks,  in  which  were  cut  —  in  some  age  so  long  gone 
into  the  past  that  its  date  can  only  be  guessed  —  the 
ncst-like  homes  of  peoples  whose  period  of  existence 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  133 


and  grade  in  the  scale  of  civilization  have  long  been 
unanswerable  enigmas  to  students  and  scientists.  The 
faces  of  the  cliffs  are  full  of  the  little  doorways  that 
gave  entrance  to  these  troglodytic  homes.  And  on 
the  tops  of  the  tall  mesas  are  the  ruins  of  ancient  stone 
buildings,  many  of  which  must  have  been  four  stories 
high,  that  also  have  been  without  inhabitants  for  cen- 
turies. 

This  region  of  the  cliff-dwellers  and  ancient  town- 
dwellers  extends  about  eight  miles  from  east  to  west, 
and  nearly  thirty  miles  from  north  to  south.  The 
cliff  houses  are  in  almost  every  mesa,  the  ruined  stone 
fortresses  are  on  almost  every  eminence;  and  yet  the 
place  is  a  dead  land,  almost  as  arid  as  a  desert,  where 
water  rarely  flows  above  the  surface,  and  can  be  ob- 
tained only  by  digging  through  a  few  feet  of  sand  and 
shale.  The  vegetation  is  scant,  and,  aside  from  the 
groves  of  pinon,  spruce,  and  pine,  is  sufficient  only  to 
give  sustenance  to  a  few  cattle  and  sheep  that  roam 
there,  and  that  drink  the  brackish  water  from  the 
water-holes  that  have  been  dug  by  the  herders. 

The  great  loneliness  of  this  land  is  indescribable. 
The  silence  that  hangs  like  a  pall  over  the  entire  region 
is  intense.  The  high,  whitish-gray  cliffs  rise,  like 
ancient  castle  walls,  throughout  the  entire  vista,  and 
seem  to  add  to  the  sense  of  deathliness  that  everywhere 


134  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


prevails.  And  as  one  wanders  among  the  fallen  walls 
of  the  old  stone  towns  that  once  must  have  teemed 
with  life  and  action,  as  he  climbs  up  the  niches  and 
footholds  cut  in  the  face  of  the  rocks  that  once  led  to 
human  habitations,  but  now  lead  only  to  crumbling 
caves  not  even  inhabited  by  bats  or  reptiles,  he  feels 
that  he  is  at  one  of  the  ancient  places  of  the  world, 
and  that  the  new  life  of  the  new  race  that  now  dwells 
in  the  land  is  but  as  a  thing  that  might  have  sprung 
into  existence  since  the  sunrise. 

How  old  these  now  ruined  villages  and  towns  are, 
no  one  can  tell.  When  the  first  Spaniards  came  up 
from  the  south,  seeking  for  treasure,  and  spreading 
the  creed  of  the  martyr  of  Calvary,  they  found  them 
without  population.  But,  ages  before  that,  these  an- 
cient places  were  inhabited  by  races  of  people  who 
must  have  been  far  different  from  the  wild  and  brut- 
ish Apaches  and  the  war-making  and  marauding 
Utes,  who  dwelt  in  almost  all  the  surrounding  lands. 

It  is  now  well  authenticated  from  scientific,  archae- 
ologic,  and  antiquarian  standpoints  that  the  inhabi- 
tants of  these  swallow-nest-like  cliff  lodges,  as  well  as 
of  the  stone  fortress  towns  on  the  summits,  were  the 
ancestors  of  the  Pueblo  Indians.  These  Indians  trace 
their  history  and  descent  back  through  the  centuries, 
in  unbroken   lines,    to   the   time  when   the  cliffs  were 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  135 

teeming  with  population.  Almost  every  Pueblo  tribe 
will  tell  of  the  particular  clifF  where  its  forefathers 
dwelt.  But  there  are  not  so  many  Pueblo  tribes  as 
there  are  ruins;  and  the  Indians  say  that  the  tribes 
from  some  of  the  old  owenasy  or  towns,  went,  in 
those  old  days,  off  to  the  south,  and  were  never 
heard  of  again.  Might  it  not  be  that  these  silent, 
weird,  old  ruined  towns  were  the  cradles  of  the 
great  races  that  swept,  in  successive  waves,  over  the 
Vale  of  Anahuac  and  the  surrounding  countries? 

There  are  many  good  proofs  that  the  Pueblos  are 
descended  from  the  old  peoples  of  the  cliffs.  At  all 
the  ruined  mesa-pueblos  are  found  the  curious  under- 
ground apartments  that  are  supposed  to  have  served 
the  same  purposes  now  served  by  the  so-called  estufas. 
On  the  walls  are  carvings  that  the  Indians  readily 
identify  as  their  God  of  Water,  and  other  gods  and 
spirits  known  in  their  worship.  And  the  plastering 
on  the  walls  of  the  ruins,  the  grinding-stones  found  in 
the  caves,  the  pottery  utensils,  are  very  much  as  are 
their  counterparts  of  to-day  in  the  quaint  old  Pueblo 
towns  of  the  Southwest.  Yet,  as  all  these  things 
properly  belong  to  scientific  lore,  they  need  not  be 
taken  into  account  here.  But  there  is  one  other 
matter  that  neither  science  nor  the  Indians,  so  far  as  I 
know,  take  into  account ;  namely,   that  some  of  the 


36  ADOBELAND    STORIES 


clifF  lodges,  and  those  which  are  apparently  of  the 
greatest  antiquity,  are  too  small  for  people  as  large  as 
the  Pueblos  of  the  present  generation  to  have  lived  in. 
In  some  of  the  more  remote  ruins  of  the  Southwest, 
only  these  pygmy  homes  are  found;  but  in  the  region 
near  the  Espanola  Valley  only  a  few  of  the  very  small 
homes  exist,  usually  mingled  with  the  larger  ones,  and 
often  in  the  same  cliffs.  Was  there,  before  the  era  of 
the  cliff-dwellers  proper,  a  smaller  and  ruder  race, 
who  carved  out  their  tiny  homes  in  the  faces  of  these 
sheer  precipices,  in  order  that  they  might  be  safe  from 
their  larger  and  stronger  foes  who  hemmed  them  in  on 
every  side  ?  And,  if  so,  did  they  migrate  or  become 
exterminated  before  the  cliff-dwellers  of  the  Indian 
legends  came,  or  did  they  remain,  mingle  with  their 
conquerors,  and  become  component  parts  of  their 
nations  ?  The  great  frowning,  deathly-silent  cliffs 
will  not  give  up  their  secrets  as  to  these  things.  And, 
except  for  the  superstitious  traditions  of  some  un- 
lettered Indians,  and  the  puerile  guesses  of  a  few 
egotistical  scientists,  there  is  no  guide  to  the  knowl- 
edge. 

A  few  men  have  gone  into  this  region  to  measure 
the  old  ruins,  and  study  them  in  connection  with  the 
traditions  of  the  Indians,  and  reconstruct,  in  imagina- 
tion, the  towns  that  once  stood  upon  these  heights  and 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  137 

commanded  the  valleys,  and  to  people,  in  imagina- 
tion, these  places  with  living,  breathing  humans,  who 
once  loved  and  hoped  and  feared  and  won  victories 
and  suffered  defeat  and  reared  children  and  died,  as 
is  the  lot  of  all  humans. 

All  the  places  have  names,  and  one  can  learn  them 
if  he  can  induce  the  Indians  to  talk.  There  are  many 
things  left  to  hang  theories  upon,  if  one  will  reason 
understandingly  about  what  he  sees;  and  the  region  is 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  instructive  in  all  the 
great  country  that  thrives  under  the  emblem  ot  the 
eagle.  But  the  way  to  this  remote  region  is  long  and 
hard,  the  work  of  excavating  is  toilsome,  and  these 
decaying  remnants  of  an  ancient  semi-civilization  are 
but  rarely  visited.  And  thus  they  lie,  silent  and  un- 
answering  as  the  Sphinx,  under  the  blue  sky  and  the 
burning  sun  of  the  mysterious  land  of  New  Mexico. 

A  man  who  dwelt  in  an  Eastern  city  heard  of  these 
places;  and  he  was  seized  with  the  desire  to  journey 
to  them,  explore  them,  trace  myths  of  them  through 
the  traditions  of  the  Indians,  and  ascertain  if  some 
clew  to  their  secrets  might  not  be  found.  He  visited 
one  of  the  adobe  pueblos  in  the  valley,  examined  the 
pottery  and  grinding-stones,  drew  old  legends  from 
the  old  men,  and  then,  with  two  Indians  as  guides 
and   servants,  he  went   to    the   cliffs.      He    took  with 


138  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


him  a  tent,  provisions,  and  cooking  utensils,  and  was 
prepared  for  a  long  stay.  He  measured  the  cliffs  and 
ruins  at  old  Sankay-week-carey,  and,  in  imagination, 
builded  again  the  peerless  diamond-shaped  rock  fortress 
that  once  stood  upon  its  crest.  He  visited  the  cliff  of 
the  Shu-finne,  and  wondered  if  it  had  not  been  occu- 
pied by  some  rebellious  offshoot  from  one  of  the  larger 
tribes,  as  the  number  of  its  **  houses"  are  fewer 
than  at  the  other  cliffs.  And  then  he  went  to  the 
mesa  which  the  pueblos  call  Pu-Ye;  and  here  he 
pitched  his  tent,  and  settled  down  for  a  long  period  of 
work  and  study. 

He  liked  the  Pu-Ye  the  best  of  all  the  ruined  towns. 
The  owe7ia,  or  pueblo,  on  the  crest  of  the  cliff  had 
been  excavated  to  a  greater  extent  than  the  others; 
and  the  view  from  the  narrow  eastern  point  of  the 
mesa  was  one  that  would  repay  a  traveller  for  jour- 
neying to  the  end  of  the  earth  to  gaze  upon. 

One  day  the  explorer  found  that  his  supplies  were 
running  short;  and  he  despatched  his  two  Indians,  on 
horseback,  to  Espafiola  for  more.  They  went  away 
in  the  morning;  and  all  the  forenoon  he  worked  alone, 
making  measurements  and  digging  potsherds  from  the 
caves.  In  the  afternoon,  being  fatigued,  he  sat  down 
upon  the  south-western  face  of  the  mesa,  below  the 
ruined    cliff  pueblo,    to  rest.      Away   to    the   east   he 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  139 


could  trace  the  course  of  the  Rio  Grande,  which 
wound  its  way,  Hke  a  thread  of  molten  silver,  through 
the  land.  The  two  little  sister  rivers  could  be  seen 
winding  into  it  from  the  east;  and  to  the  south-east, 
rising  like  the  head  of  a  monster  out  of  the  earth,  was 
the  Black  Mesa,  historic  in  Tehuan  legends  as  being 
the  impregnable  fortress  to  which  the  Indians  always 
retired  when  sorely  pressed  by  their  foes.  In  every 
direction,  as  far  as  his  sight  could  reach,  was  a  world 
of  mesas  and  chalk-colored  cliffs  and  canons  and 
mountains    and    valleys. 

The  man  turned  from  his  rapt  enjoyment  of  the 
marvellous  scene  that  was  unfolded  before  him,  and 
was  greatly  surprised  to  find  that  a  woman  stood  near 
him.  He  supposed  that  he  had  been  too  engrossed  to 
hear  her  approach.  After  a  few  moments'  awkward 
silence,  he  raised  his  hat,  bowed,  and  addressed  her. 

The  woman  bowed,  and  slightly  smiled;  and,  as 
she  did  so,  the  traveller  observed  that  she  was  un- 
commonly beautiful.  Her  hair  was  as  yellow  as  melted 
gold  when  it  comes  fresh  from  the  crucible,  her  eyes 
were  of  an  indescribable  misty  blue,  and  her  skin  was 
as  white  and  as  fair  as  the  petals  of  a  lily.  Her  form 
was  lissome  and  slender,  yet  fully  developed  and  per- 
fectly proportioned;  and  the  soft  undulations  o{  her 
bosom  caused  her  silken  garments  to  rise  and  fall  \vith 


40  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


a  gentle  motion.  Her  hands  were  small  and  soft, 
and  she  wore  a  jewel  that  flashed  and  gleamed  like  a 
star. 

**  I  am  glad  to  know  that  this  place  is  not  so 
deserted  as  I  had  thought,"  said  the  man.  '*  I  sup- 
posed that  I  was  entirely  alone,  and  that  there  was  no 
living  human  being  nearer  to  me  than  at  the  house  of 
a  wood-cutter,  who  dwells  four  miles  further  up  the 
valley.  My  two  Indian  servants  have  gone  to  the 
little  town  in  the  valley  for  supplies.  I  am  exploring 
this  interesting  place.  Are  you,  too,  exploring? 
And   where  are   the  others  of  your  party?  " 

The  woman  smiled  as  the  traveller  delivered  him- 
self of  this  rather  disjointed  and  disconnected  speech, 
and  she  said:  — 

*'  I  am  not  exploring  the  ruins.  I  know  them  all 
and  know  them  well,  and  finished  my  explorations 
long  ago.  And  there  are  no  others  in  my  party.  I, 
too,  am  alone.  But  are  you  not  going  to  ask  me  to 
be  seated? ' ' 

With  his  handkerchief  the  man  brushed  away  the 
dust  from  a  rock,  and  the  woman  smiled  as  she  sat 
down. 

**Do  you  live  near  here?"  asked  the  man.  "I 
thought  this  entire  region  uninhabited,  except  for  an 
occasional  Mexican  herder  or  wood-cutter." 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  141 


The  woman  smiled  into  the  man's  face  as  an  adult 
might  smile  at  a  child,  and  she  said:  — 

**  Do  you  think  that  the  scantness  of  inhabitancy 
here  gives  you  the  right  to  ask  me  so  many  questions? 
I  ask  you  no  questions.  I  express  no  curiosity  about 
you  and  your  domicile  and  your  environments;  but  I 
am  content  to  sit  here  with  you,  and  enjoy  this  mar- 
vellous panorama  that  has  few  equals  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  I  have  journeyed  much,  and  to  far  countries; 
but  to  me  this  crest  of  old  Pu-Ye  is  one  of  the  dear- 
est spots  in  all  the  world.  I  love  the  valley  of  Mal- 
trata  in  Mexico;  and  Loch  Lomond  with  its  frame  of 
brown  hills;  and  the  Columbia  River  on  a  spring 
day,  when  the  clouds  rise,  one  layer  after  another,  from 
the  green  earth  to  the  blue  sky,  is  another  of  my  dear- 
est places.  But,  above  them  all,  I  think  this  is  my 
favorite  landscape." 

The  man  stared  at  the  woman  in  great  wonder.  It 
was  strange  that  a  delicate,  well-dressed,  and  refined 
woman  should  be  alone  with  him  on  the  top  of  an 
uninhabited  mesa,  miles  from  human  habitancy,  and 
stranger  still  that  she  should  talk  to  him  with  as  utter 
nonchalance  as  though  she  had  been  in  her  own  draw- 
ing-room. Her  costume,  too,  was  entirely  out  of 
keeping  with  the  surroundings.  Her  dress  was  of 
silk,  and  was  cut  after  some  flowing,  loose.  Oriental 


ADOBELAND    STORIES 


fashion.  Her  shoes  were  low,  and  were  of  the  light- 
est and  daintiest  kind;  and  her  head  was  bare,  except 
for  a  loose  silken   scarf  that  fell   lightly  over  her  hair. 

Yet  the  situation  did  not  seem  so  unusual  to  the 
man  as  it  would  have  done,  were  it  not  for  a  strange 
feeling  he  had  that  he  knew  the  woman,  or  some  one 
very  like  her.  But  he  knew  he  had  never  seen  her 
before.  When  she  smiled  into  his  eyes  again,  he  be- 
came perfectly  at  ease. 

As  they  talked,  the  man  forgot  the  strangeness  of 
the  situation,  and  forgot  to  make  further  inquiries.  He 
forgot  all,  except  that  he  was  contented  and  happy. 
And  he  and  the  strange  woman  sat  together  on  the 
brink  of  the  old  cliff  of  Pu-Ye,  and  gazed  over  the 
beaudful  vistas  that  opened  to  their  view.  They  talked 
of  the  people  who  must  once  have  lived  in  those  strange 
places,  but  w^ho  were  now  utterly  gone,  and  whose 
memories,  save  for  a  few  traditions,  were  as  completely 
lost  to  the  present  people  of  the  earth  as  though  they 
had  never  existed. 

'*Do  you  suppose  they  were  like  us?'*  asked  the 
man.  **  Do  you  suppose  that  the  men  of  that  time 
had  ambitions  that  could  never  be  realized  and  hopes 
that  could  never  be  fulfilled?  Or  do  you  think  that 
they  were  content,  and  lived  out  their  simple  lives  in 
peace,  except    when   they   had    to  protect   themselves 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  143 

from  the  savages  who  came  upon  these  places  from  the 
wilderness  to  kill  and  pillage?  " 

*'  But  why  do  you  wonder  about  the  men  alone, 
and  not  about  the  women,  too?"  asked  the  woman. 
**  Do  you  not  think  that  the  women  who  dwelt  in 
these  narrow  homes  in  the  face  of  the  cliffs,  and  in 
the  great  stone  houses  that  crowned  the  top  of  the 
mesas,  might  have  been  in  many  ways  as  are  the 
women  of  our  own  time?  Do  you  not  wonder  if  they 
loved  their  husbands  and  their  sweethearts  and  their 
children,  if  they  felt  the  blight  of  disappointment  and 
the  joy  of  fulfilment,  as  do  the  women  who  now 
dwell  in  the  world?" 

**  I  forgot  to  think  of  the  ancient  women,  I  presume 
because  I  know  so  little  of  women.  I  suppose  my 
life  has  been  far  from  being  full,  for  I  have  known  but 
few  women;  and  I  have  never  been  in  love  with  one. 
I  have  never  met  a  woman  who  was  more  to  me  than 
any  other  woman." 

The  woman  smiled  again,  and  her  great  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  be  swimming  in  hazy  mists. 

*'You  speak  of  this  hfe  alone,"  said  she. 

**  Well,  as  it  is  the  only  life  I  have  Hved,  it  is  the 
only  one  I  know  about." 

**  You  do  not  know  it  to  be  the  only  one  you  have 
lived,  and  it  need  not  be  the  only  one  you  can  know 
about,"  replied  the  woman. 


144  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

**  Can  you  tell  me  of  the  life  I  shall  live  in  the 
future?  "    asked   the  man,  curiously. 

*'  I  can  tell  you  nothing  of  the  future,  but  I  think 
I  know  something  of  your  past.  It  seems  to  me  that 
you  once  dwelt  at  this  place,  and  that  you  then  loved 
a  woman,  and  knew  more  of  the  secrets  and  truths  of 
existence  than  you  now  know.  I  think  you  dwelt 
here,    and    that   I   knew  you   then." 

*' But  no  one  has  dwelt  here  for  centuries,"  said 
the  man. 

"I  know,"  said  the  woman.  **It  was  ages  ago 
—  long,  almost  countless  ages  ago  —  when  you  and  I 
dwelt  here.      But  I  remember  you." 

Was  the  woman  a  maniac?  The  man  could  not 
harbor  such  an  idea  for  more  than  an  instant;  for  her 
bright  eyes  were  full  of  reason,  and  every  lineament 
of  her  beautiful  face  was  brimming  with  intelligence. 
The  man  pondered  over  her  strange  statements,  which 
were  made  in  seeming  gravity  and  sincerity.  Then 
he  remembered  tales  he  had  heard  of  a  strange  creed 
of  reincarnations  of  the  soul,  and  of  lives  lived  long 
ago  and  remembered  in  this  life.  The  woman  must 
entertain  those  strange  beliefs.  He  remembered,  too, 
that  one  of  the  tenets  of  the  strange  belief  was  the  idea 
of  indissoluble  affinities,  of  kindred  souls  that  belonged 
with    each    other   and    to  each  other,  and  that  should 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  145 

know  and  recognize  the  bond  of  kinship  whenever 
they  came  together.  This  thought  brought  to  his 
mind  the  idea  that  the  woman  might  consider  that  she 
was  his  affinity.  He  had  heard  that  such  a  belief 
would  take  people  across  the  world, —  and  the  Pu-Ye 
is  almost  as  remote  as  Khartoum. 

As  though  reading  the  man's  thoughts,  the  woman 
sat  smiling.      Then  she  said:  — 

*'  It  is  true  that  I  believe  in  reincarnations,  and  also 
in  affinities.  But  I  am  not  your  affinity,  although  I 
hav^e  known  her.  I  am  nothing  to  you,  sav^e  that  I 
am  a  woman  and  you  are  a  man.  Even  that  means 
a  great  deal;  but  to  you  it  means  nothing  in  compari- 
son with  the  knowledge  that  your  affinity,  now  for- 
gotten by  you,  exists,  and  will  some  time  be  known  to 
you  again." 

**  There  is  no  such  woman,"  said  the  man. 
**  There  is  no  such  woman  in  the  world,  and  all 
women  are  as  one  to  me.  I  know  not  the  meaning 
of  the  word  *  love ' ;  and  if  you,  in  your  wisdom,  can 
teach  me  its  meaning,  I  shall  be  very  grateful." 

**  It  is  true  that,  save  for  indistinct  memories  that 
you  do  not  understand,  you  know  not  the  meaning  of 
love.  I  cannot  teach  you,  but  I  could  cause  you  to 
remember. ' ' 

As   the  woman   talked,  she    gazed    into    the  man's 


146  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


eyes;  and  he  felt  a  strange  sensation  of  drowsiness 
coming  over  him.  Her  last  words  sounded  to  him  as 
an  echo  coming  to  his  ears  from  a  long  distance.  He 
gazed  listlessly  and  unseeingly  across  the  great  valley 
that  lay  to  the  east,  but  he  did  not  speak.  The 
woman  rose  and  came  nearer  to  him,  all  the  time 
gazing  intently  into  his  eyes. 

**  It  is  better  now  that  you  rest,"  she  said.  **It 
is  better  that  you  rest  and  sleep.  Forget,  forget,  and 
sleep!" 

The  words  she  spoke  sounded  to  the  man  as  a  lul- 
laby sounds  to  a  tired  child.  He  closed  his  eyes 
drowsily,  leaned  back,  making  a  pillow  of  his  arms, 
and  knew  that  he  was  falling  asleep.  Then,  half- 
realizing  that  his  actions  were  very  unusual,  he  made 
an  effort  to  rouse  himself.  Again  came  the  softly 
spoken  words:  — 

**Rest!  Be  peaceful,  and  rest,  and  sleep!  For- 
get, and  rest,  and  sleep!  " 

And  the  man,  lying  prone  upon  the  earth,  on  the 
arid  top  of  the  gray  mesa  of  ancient  Pu-Ye,  succumbed 
to  the  strange  influence  of  the  strange  woman;  and 
he  was  soon  breathing  the  breath  of  deep  and  peaceful 
sleep. 

How  long  the  man  slept,  he  knew  not;  but  when 
he  awoke,  the  morning  sun  was  shining  full  into  his 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  147 

face.  He  lay  prone  upon  his  back  for  a  little  time 
in  drowsy  enjoyment,  and  he  lazily  tried  to  remember 
where  he  was. 

**  The  sky  is  above  me,  so  I  must  be  out-of-doors," 
he  said,  **  Let  me  remember.  Oh,  yes!  I  am  at 
the  cliffs  of  Pu-Ye,  and  must  have  grown  tired,  and 
fallen  asleep  from  fatigue.  How  was  it?  I  must 
think!  Oh,  yes!  I  sent  my  Indian  servants  to  the 
town,  and  I  was  alone.  But  I  seem  to  remember  a 
woman  who  came  to  the  cliff  and  talked  to  me.  Ah ! 
I  remember  now.  She  was  here  when  I  fell  asleep. 
How  stupid  it  was  of  me !  " 

This  thought  caused  him  to  leap  to  his  feet.  And, 
when  he  had  risen  and  looked  about  him,  he  thought 
for  an  instant  that  he  was  crazed  or  enchanted.  The 
mesa  was  teeming  with  people.  Red  w^omen  and 
girls,  with  large  water-jars  upon  their  heads,  climbed 
up  the  side  of  the  cliff.  Red  men  were  walking  over 
the  mesa,  while  others  sat  under  the  shade  of  trees, 
polishing  stone  implements  or  moulding  pottery. 
Children  played  in  quiet  groups.  And  off  to  the 
west,  where  the  pile  of  crumbling  rocks  had  been, 
there  arose  a  great  stone  structure,  high  and  massive, 
with  smoke  rising  from  its  scores  of  chimneys,  and 
with  armed  guards  walking  over  its  thick  outer  walls. 
He  gazed  into  the  valley  below  him;   and  there  arose 


148  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

another  mass  of  buildings,  also  teeming  with  popula- 
tion. He  could  see  people  passing  in  and  out  of  the 
clifF-homcs,  and  he  observed  that  the  clijfF  seemed 
more  sheer  than  he  had  known  it.  Where  he  had 
seen  but  a  dry,  sandy  arroyo,  there  now  flowed  a 
stream  of  clear,  limpid  water;  and  all  up  and  down 
this  stream  were  little  fields,  where  low  corn  plants 
and  gourd  vines  and  tobacco  were  growing. 

The  man  stood  gazing  in  stupid  wonder  and  as- 
tonishment, and  a  strange  horror  began  to  take  hold  of 
him.  What  had  happened  to  him,  and  to  life,  and 
to  the  w^orld?  Was  his  mind  failing  him,  and  were 
these  people  and  this  strange  land  and  that  great 
stone  fortress  but  things  that  delirium  had  conjured  up 
in  his  disordered  brain?  As  he  wondered  and  feared, 
he  was  startled  by  hearing  a  soft  laugh  near  him. 
Turning,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  beautiful  girl,  red  like 
the  other  women  about  him,  but  who  seemed  to  him 
as  one  he  knew  well  and  had  always  known.  And 
even  his  perplexity  was  not  great  enough  to  prevent 
him  from  observing  that  she  was  very  beautiful. 

**  How  strangely  you  act,  dear  one!  "  said  the  girl. 
**  You  have  slept;  and  you  must  have  dreamed  of  war- 
fare or  of  evil  spirits,  for  your  eyes  were  wild  as  you 
looked  about  you.  I  think  you  were  looking  for  evil 
witches  to  come  out  of  the  sky,  or  for  a  band  of 
Apaches  to  come  stealing  up  our  stone  stairways." 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  149 

The  man  understood  all  the  girl  said;  yet  he  re- 
membered that  it  was  a  strange  language  to  him, 
different  from  his  own,  and  one  that  he  did  not  think 
he  had  ever  heard  before.  And  he  marvelled  more 
when  he  found  that  the  answer  he  made  to  the  girl 
was  in  the  same  speech  as  her  own. 

**  I  know  not  where  I  am,"  he  said.  **  I  remem- 
ber sleeping;  and  I  have  dreamed  and  I  have  awakened, 
and  that  is  all." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  again  gazed  about  him  in 
bewilderment.  The  girl  affectionately  embraced  him, 
took  his  hand  in  her  warm  clasp,  and  said:  — 

**I  fear  you  are  not  well,  dear  heart.  You  think 
too  much,  and  study  too  much  and  too  long,  striving 
to  find  out  all  the  knowledge  that  is  known  to  men, 
and  that  has  been  gathered  since  the  world  began. 
You  were  so  v/eary  that  you  fell  asleep  as  you  sat  by 
my  side.  You  are  weary  yet,  and  now  you  must  rest. 
And,  too,  you  must  eat.  Come  with  me,  and  I  will 
prepare  food." 

All  at  once  everything  seemed  natural  to  the  man. 
He  felt  as  feels  one  who  has  become  confused  about 
the  points  of  the  compass,  and  then  reaches  some 
familiar  landmark  that  makes  the  directions  clear  to 
him  again.      And  he  kissed  the  girl,  and  said:  — 

"  I  have  had  a  strange  dream,  loved  one  of  mine; 


I50  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


and  it  was  so  vivid  and  so  true  to  what  might  have 
been,  that  the  vestiges  of  it  remained  in  my  brain,  and 
my  mind  was  not  clear  when  I  awoke.  But  it  is 
gone  now,  and  I  am  well.  And,  as  I  am  not  hun- 
gry, sit  you  down  by  me  here,  and  let  me  be  happy 
in  having  you  with  me  alone." 

The  man  gazed  at  his  own  body,  and  it  seemed 
natural  to  him  that  the  color  of  his  skin  was  red.  It 
seemed  natural,  too,  that  he  was  clad  only  in  a  girdle 
and  a  loose  robe,  that  a  feather  was  stuck  in  the  band 
that  held  his  thick  black  hair,  and  that  sandals  made 
of  the  fibre  of  yucca  and  soled  with  deerskin  were  on 
his  feet.  It  was  also  natural  that  the  girl  was  red, 
and  that  she  was  barefooted  and  bareheaded,  and  clad 
in  a  gown  or  robe  that  half  revealed  the  rounded 
beauties  of  her  form.  And,  more  than  all,  it  was 
natural  that  he  loved  her  more  than  he  loved  himself, 
more  than  he  loved  his  power  over  the  men  of  his 
nation,  more  than  he  loved  the  creed  of  which  he  was 
priest,  more  than  he  loved  all  else  in  the  world.  And 
he  sat  by  the  woman  and  held  her  hand  and  caressed 
her  soft  cheek,  and  forgot  that  the  hours  were  flying 
and  that  the  sun  was  journeying  toward  the  west. 

They  gazed  at  the  busy  life  of  the  cliiFs  and  the 
owenas.  On  the  sheer  sides  of  the  mesa,  little  gardens, 
clinging  like  birds' -nests  to  the  face  of  the  rock,  and 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  151 

fenced  in  with  great  jagged  stones,  showed  patches  of 
greenery.  Other  little  stone  enclosures  held  wild 
turkeys.  On  the  open  ground  on  top  of  the  mesa, 
groups  of  men  were  husking  corn;  while  lines  of  men 
were  climbing  up  to  the  top  from  the  valley  below, 
bearing  great  bundles  of  wood  supported  by  bands 
fastened  to  their  heads.  Women  and  girls  came  in 
from  other  mesas,  carrying  clay  that  they  were  bring- 
ing to  mould  into  pottery.  On  the  walls  of  the  great 
building  were  seen  women  who  fashioned  clay  jars  and 
bowls.  And  far  down  the  valley  could  be  seen  ap- 
proaching a  band  of  people,  men  and  women,  many 
in  number,  who  marched  in  regular  order  and  sang  as 
they  marched.  They  were  tillers,  who  had  been  to 
the  fields  in  the  valley  of  the  great  river  in  the  east, 
and  who  travelled  in  bands  to  insure  safety.  Hunters 
came  in  from  the  forests,  as  the  sun  sank  low.  Chil- 
dren trooped  away  to  their  homes  for  the  evening 
meal.  Men  went  from  their  toils  to  the  underground 
apartments  called  tah-eh,  and  women  bore  baskets 
of  food  and  jars  of  water  to  them.  Fresh  guards 
mounted  the  great  walls,  and  began  their  ceaseless 
marching  up  and  down,  and  took  up  their  part  of  the 
watchful  vigil  that  never  ceased. 

No  one  disturbed   the  priest  and  his  bride,  and  they 
sat  in  the  glory  of  the  waning  sun  and  gazed  upon  the 


152  ADOBELAND   STORIES 

living  scenes  before  them.  In  time  they  arose,  and 
went  to  the  gateway  of  the  great  stone  fortress-house. 
The  guards,  who  stood  at  either  side  of  the  gateway, 
leaning  upon  their  long,  obsidian-tipped  spears,  rever- 
ently saluted  as  they  passed.      And  the  girl  said:  — 

**  I  am  so  glad  and  so  proud,  dear  one  of  mine, 
that  you  are  the  Ruler  of  the  Waters.  When  you 
must  fast,  and  perforce  be  away  from  me,  I  long  for 
your  presence.  But  I  do  not  grieve,  for  I  console 
myself  with  the  thought  that  the  great  God  of  the 
Mists  loves  you  more  than  he  loves  any  one  else  in  all 
this  great  nation  of  people.  I  rejoice  that  you  are  the 
dearest  one  to  him,  and  that  you  know  all  the  secrets 
he  left  upon  the  earth  when  he  went  from  us  to  dwell 
at  the  right  hand  of  his  Father  in  the  sun.  I  would 
love  you,  dear  heart,  if  you  were  the  lowest  and  poor- 
est of  our  people;  but  I  love  you  more  because  you 
are  the  greatest,  the  wisest,  the  best,  and  the  most 
holy." 

The  man  was  the  ruler  and  chief  priest  of  his 
nation,  and  the  beautiful  girl  was  his  bride.  But  a 
few  months  had  gone  into  the  past  since  they  had 
wed;  and  since  that  time  they  had  been  as  happy  as 
they  hoped  to  be  when  their  lives  were  over,  and  they 
should  receive  their  rewards  for  right  living  and  should 
dwell  in  the  bright  houses  of  turquoise  in  the  sun. 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  153 


Children  racing  and  playing  across  the  great  central 
plaza  of  the  place  stopped  and  gazed  as  the  priest  and 
his  bride  passed  by.  Men  and  women  closed  their 
hands  together  and  bowed  low  in  reverence.  And, 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  great  towering  structure  that 
was  a  house  of  many  homes,  and  yet  was  but  a  part 
of  the  great  city  he  ruled;  as  he  saw  the  riches  of  his 
nation,  and  the  looks  of  love  and  reverence  upon  their 
faces,  the  priest  felt  that  it  was  good  to  live  and  good 
to  rule  and  good  to  have  high  honor  among  his 
people.  And,  when  he  was  within  the  home  of  his 
bride,  and  was  seated  by  the  side  of  his  beautiful  loved 
one,  he  felt  that  it  was  doubly  good  to  love.  And 
he  said  to  his  bride  that  love  was  greater  than  riches 
or  honor  or  praise  or  wealth. 

The  priest  and  his  family  need  do  no  work.  They 
were  served  by  the  other  people,  in  turn;  and  much 
rivalry  was  shown  as  to  who  should  be  the  favored 
ones  who  should  serve  them.  When  they  entered 
their  own  rooms  in  the  great  house,  blankets  and 
robes  of  fur  were  spread  for  them  by  the  women  and 
girls  who  awaited  their  coming;  and  soon  food  was 
served  to  them.  There  was  Indian  maize;  the  roots 
and  pods  of  yucca,  cooked  with  pungent  herbs;  there 
Vv'as  game  and  wild  fowl,  and  plants  cooked  in  various 
ways.      There  was  clear  filtered  water  that  had  been 


54  ADOBELAND    STORIES 


cooled  in  porous  earthen  jars.  And,  when  the  meal 
was  done,  tobacco  was  given  to  the  young  priest,  and 
he  and  his  bride  were  left  alone.  He  smoked  as  she 
sat  by  his  side  and  gazed  upon  him  with  the  lovelight 
shining  from  her  slumbrous,  beautiful  eyes. 

There  came  a  tap  at  the  door;  and  soon  a  band  of 
the  Koshaar,  or  delight-makers,  entered.  Some  of 
them  were  old  men,  some  were  youths;  and  there 
was  one  little  boy,  only  as  high  as  a  man's  hip,  who 
was  gaudily  decked  out  in  bright  colors  and  waving 
plumes.  They  saluted  the  priest  and  his  bride,  and 
craved  permission  to  sing  and  dance.  Permission 
being  given,  they  ranged  themselves  about  the  room, 
and  sang  an  opening  song  in  weird  cadences.  Then 
the  little  boy  danced  alone  to  the  beating  of  a  rude 
drum.  Then,  all  together,  they  mimicked  bears  and 
deer  and  mountain  lions  and  eagles.  They  sang  songs 
that  embodied  the  gossip  of  the  city,  and  they  made 
witty  verses  about  the  chiefs  and  headmen  and  famous 
hunters.  They  were  so  full  of  glee,  and  so  untiring 
in  their  efforts  to  amuse,  that  the  priest  and  his  bride 
laughed  till  the  night  rang  with  their  merriment. 
Then,  laden  with  presents,  the  Koshaar  went  away, 
repeating  blessings  as  they  went. 

The  youthful  priest  and  his  girl-bride  sat  for  a  time 
in  silence,  smiling  as   they  mused  upon   the   antics   of 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  155 

the  delight-makers.  Then  they  retired  to  their  couch 
of  furs  and  yucca  blankets;  and  he  pillowed  his  head 
upon  her  breast,  and  talked  to  her  again  of  the  great 
love  he  bore  for  her.  They  promised  to  each  other 
that  their  love  should  last,  young,  undimmed,  and  un- 
tarnished, through  all  the  days  and  years  of  their  lives, 
and  that  after  they  were  done  with  the  things  of  the 
world  it  should  last  again  through  all  the  years  of  the 
happy  eternity  they  would  spend  together  in  the 
bright,  deathless  land  of  endless  joy  that  their  Great 
Father  had   created  in  the  sun. 

''  But  what  of  the  strange  dream  you  had  this 
morning,  as  you  slept  in  the  air,  dear  one?"  asked 
the  girl.  **  I  know  that  I  am  but  a  woman,  and  that 
it  is  unlawful  for  women  to  know  the  greatest  mys- 
teries; yet  I  am  troubled  about  that  dream,  for  the 
look  upon  your  face  when  you  awoke  was  one  that  I 
never  saw  there  before.  Can  you  not  tell  me  of  the 
dream?  " 

"  It  was  a  strange  dream,  a  strange  dream  and  a 
weird  one,"  answered  he,  stroking  her  hand.  *' I 
have  had  many  dreams,  and  it  is  given  that  much 
wisdom  comes  to  me  in  dreams.  But  never  in  all 
the  years  of  my  Hfe,  never  when  I  was  initiate  or 
since  I  have  been  priest,  has  such  a  dream  taken 
possession  of  my  brain.      I  know  not  what  it  portends 


56  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


or  means;  but  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  or  when- 
ever I  can  spare  the  time  from  your  sweet  companion- 
ship, I  shall  go  alone  to  my  sacred  place,  and  there  I 
shall  perform  the  mysteries,  and  strive  and  fast,  until 
I  learn  what  meaning  it  has." 

"^  But  what  was  the  dream,  twin  soul  of  mine? 
May  you  not  tell  me?  " 

**  Yes,  I  may  tell  you  of  the  dream,  dear  bride. 
It  deals  not  with  any  of  our  sacred  mysteries,  and  it 
is  so  passing  strange  that  1  am  glad  to  talk  of  it  with 
some  one.  I  know  not  how  it  began.  I  had  no 
dream  of  dying,  and  no  dream  of  any  life  between 
the  one  I  now  know  and  the  one  I  lived  in  my  dream. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  a  man,  and  a  very  dif- 
ferent man  from  any  that  has  ever  been  seen  in  the 
world.  I  dreamed  that  my  skin  was  white,  that  my 
eyes  were  blue,  that  my  hair  was  as  fair  as  the  first 
leaves  of  the  maize,  and  that  I  knew  and  had  seen 
multitudes  of  people  whose  skins  were  also  white,  and 
who  dwelt  in  places  not  like  the  places  where  we 
dwell,  nor  like  any  places  known  in  the  world.  And 
I  thought  that  I  heard  a  tale  of  a  strange,  dead  land 
in  the  west,  where  people  once  had  dwelt,  but  whose 
ancient  inhabitants  were  forgotten  upon  the  earth.  I 
was  seized  with  a  desire  to  see  that  place,  and  I 
journeyed    there;   and,    dear   bride    of  my   heart,   the 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  157 

place  I  came  to  was  this  place.  It  was  our  own 
lovely  and  well-beloved  Pu-Ye,  but  it  was  not  as  it 
now  is.  The  homes  in  the  face  of  the  cliff  were 
deserted,  and  crumbling  into  decay,  and  were 
half  filled  with  fine  dust  that  the  winds  of  centuries 
had  blown  into  them.  The  great  building  that  we 
dwell  in  was  but  a  heap  of  crumbling  stones,  and  it 
was  entirely  without  inhabitants.  The  owena  in  the 
valley  was  but  a  pile  of  sand  and  rocks.  The  very 
stream  had  dried  up.  The  game  and  fowls  had  de- 
serted the  land.  Water  could  be  found  only  by  dig- 
ging under  the  ground;  and  a  curse  seemed  to  rest 
upon  the  place,  and  no  people  dwelt  here  at  all." 

**  Will  such  a  curse  come,  dear  one?  Can  you  not 
avert  it  by  praying  and  making  magic?  ' '  asked  the 
woman,   anxiously. 

**  I  think  such  a  curse  will  not  come,"  answered 
the  man,  **  although,  when  our  God  of  the  Fine  Mists 
dwelt  upon  the  earth  with  us,  he  left  a  saving  that 
ages  in  the  future  a  white-faced  people  —  the  To-wah- 
tsee-ee  of  our  Sacred  Story — would  come  to  our  land 
from  the  great  unknown  lands  of  the  east.  But 
I  think  my  dream  was  all  a  fantasy,  and  "■  that  it 
betokens  nothing  real.  For,  although  I  saw  this  place 
in  my  dream,  I  had  no  remembrance  of  ever  having 
seen    it    before    or    of  having    known     you.       And, 


158  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


surely,  a  dream  with  no  memory  of  you  in  it  would 
not  be  real.  Then  I  dreamed  that  I  sat  on  the  brink 
of  the  cliff,  and  wondered  what  manner  of  people  had 
once  dwelt  in  these  places.  And,  as  I  mused  and 
wondered,  there  came  to  me  a  strange  white  woman, 
with  hair  as  yellow  as  the  arrows  shot  by  the  morning 
sun,  and  eyes  as  blue  as  is  the  sky  when  it  is  seen  in 
glimpses  through  the  mists.  She  was  beautiful, — 
almost  as  beautiful  as  you  are,  loved  one.  And  she 
told  strange  things  to  me,  and  said  to  me  that  some- 
where there  was  a  woman  that  I  loved.  And  the 
strangest  thing  of  all  that  dream,  sweet  one,  was  that 
I  could  remember  no  such  woman.  Then  the  woman 
gazed  into  my  eyes;  and  her  look  seemed  to  give  her 
mastery  over  me,  and  she  commanded  me  to  sleep.  I 
slept;  and  that  is  all.  And  never  in  my  life  has  an 
awakening  been  so  pleasant;  for  I  awoke  from  that 
dream  of  a  joyless  life,  and  found  you,  and  love,  and 
this  dear  land,  and  my  own  great  people.  In  the  cruel 
dream  I  had  forgotten  you  and  all  else  that  I  know, 
and  I  can  remember  yet  the  coldness  that  I  felt  in  my 
heart." 

They  talked  for  a  time  of  the  dream,  but  soon 
forgot  it  to  talk  of  love,  which  was  the  chief  theme  in 
the  world  for  them.  In  time  they  desired  to  sleep; 
and   the  woman   folded   the  man  closer  to  her  bosom. 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  159 

and  drowsily  and  happily  told  him  that,  when  he 
awoke  in  the  morning,  he  must  not  forget  her  nor 
again  forget  where  he  was.  And  the  mists  of  forget- 
fulness  enwrapped  their  memories,  and  they  slept. 

The  man  again  awoke.  He  was  lying  upon  his 
back;  and,  as  he  gazed  upward,  he  saw  the  sky,  and 
the  first  faint,  pale  rays  of  the  morning  sunshine  were 
just  beginning  to  diffuse  color  through  it.  For  a  little 
time  this  did  not  seem  strange  to  him;  but  soon  he 
remembered  that  he  had  gone  to  sleep  in  the  couch 
and  the  house  of  his  bride,  with  a  roof  above  him  and 
with  walls  protecting  him.  He  put  out  his  hand  to 
place  it  upon  the  form  of  his  loved  one, —  whom  he 
supposed  was  sleeping  by  his  side, —  in  order  to  assure 
himself  of  her  presence;  but  his  hand  came  in  contact 
only  with  loose  sand.  He  clutched  a  handful  of  the 
sand,  and  held  it  up  before  his  eyes  and  stupidly  stared 
at  it.  Then  he  looked  about  him,  and  found  that  his 
body  was  imbedded  in  sand,  and  that  many  people 
were  near  him,  and  all  were  sleeping  under  coverings 
of  sand.  He  arose  to  a  sitting  posture;  and,  spread 
out  on  the  sand  by  his  side,  he  saw  the  matted  hair 
of  a  woman.  He  put  his  hand  upon  the  hair,  and  the 
woman  awoke,  and  sleepily  half  arose  and  turned  and 
smiled  into  his  face.  And  he  seemed  to  know  the 
woman,  although    his  mind  was   still   clinging   to    the 


i6o  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

memory  of  the  otlicr  more  beautiful  woman  who  was 
his  bride. 

**  Where  am  I?  And  what  has  befallen?"  he 
asked. 

**  You  are  just  awakening;  and  nothing  has  befallen 
except  that  the  sun  is  rising,  and  it  is  time  for  us  to 
arise  and  eat,"  answered  the  woman.  She  spoke 
softly,  and  reached  over  and  caressed  him  as  she 
spoke. 

As  the  woman  arose,  the  man  observed  that  she 
was  very  small,  and  that  she  was  unclad  save  for  a 
skin  girdle  that  she  wore  about  her,  and  another  un- 
tanned  skin  which  she  drew  over  her  shoulders.  And, 
when  he  also  arose,  he  saw  that  he  himself  was  small, 
and  that  his  garments  were  much  as  were  those  of  the 
woman. 

One  by  one  the  other  people  arose,  shook  the  sand 
from  their  hair  and  their  bodies,  and  began  dig- 
ging up  roots  and  eating  them.  The  women  caught 
beetles  and  lizards;  and  they,  too,  were  eaten.  Then 
they  all  lay  face  downward  in  the  sand,  and  drank 
from   the   little   stream   that   was   there. 

**  Why  do  you  gaze  at  me  and  at  all  things  so 
strangely?"    asked  the  woman. 

'*l  have  dreamed,"  replied  the  man.  **  I  seemed 
to    have    forgotten   you    and  my  people  and  this  land. 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS 


and  even  myself,  as  I  am  in  reality,  and  to  have  been 
living  another  kind  oi"  life.  I  seemed  to  know  the 
clifF  where  we  have  our  place  of  abode  cut  out  of  the 
rock;  but  I,  and  the  other  people  who  dwelt  there, 
were  much  larger  than  we  are,  and  they  all  had  fine 
garments  and  many  great  things  that  are  unknown  to 
us.  Those  people  were  as  great  in  stature  as  are  the 
new  people  who  have  come  upon  the  earth, —  those 
terrible  killers,  who  seek  to  drink  the  blood  of  men, 
and  who  have  caused  us  to  cut  our  abiding  places 
high  above  the  level  of  the  valleys,  so  that  we  may  be 
safe  from  them.  But  the  people  of  my  dream  were 
not  like  the  killers,  and  they  were  kind,  and  made  not 
war  for  blood.  And  on  the  top  of  our  cliff  was  a 
great  building  made  of  stones  cunningly  joined  to- 
gether, and  it  was  so  strong  that  the  enemies  of  that 
people  feared  to  attack  them.  Those  people  never 
hungered.  They  had  great  weapons  that  enabled 
them  to  kill  the  great,  fierce  buffalo;  and  they  had 
many  fields  in  which  grew  things  good  for  food.  Ah, 
it  was  happiness  even  to  dream  of  so  much  to  eat! 
But  it  was  a  dream,  and  it  means  nothing.  So  let  us 
catch  beetles,  in  order  that  we  may  eat." 

All  day  the  man  and  the  other  people  wandered, 
hunting  small  animals,  which  they  killed  with  stones, 
and    seeking     edible    roots,    which    they   made    into 


ADOBELAND  STORIES 


bundles  and  bore  upon  their  heads  as  they  walked. 
They  had  been  hunting  for  two  days;  and,  as  their 
bundles  had  grown  to  be  as  heavy  as  they  could  bear, 
they  were  journeying  again  toward  the  cliffs  where 
they  dwelt.  One  man  walked  on  ahead  of  the  rest; 
and  once  a  sharp  hiss  of  warning  came  from  him,  as 
he  leaped  behind  a  great  tufa  rock  that  had  fallen  from 
a  mesa-top  into  the  valley.  The  others  silently  crept 
behind  the  great  rock,  and  they  trembled  as  a  great 
bear  passed  down  the  valley.  Again  during  the  day 
the  scout  warned  them;  and  they  all  hid  in  shaking 
fear  as  a  tall,  naked  Indian  —  one  of  the  new  race  of 
Killers  who  had  lately  come  into  the  world  —  was 
seen  at  a  little  distance.  At  night  they  came  to  the 
cliffs  of  the  Pu-Ye,  in  the  faces  of  which  their  little 
houses  had  been  cut  out.  They  had  chosen  this 
place,  and  carved  out  their  homes  high  in  the  cliff,  in 
order  that  they  might  be  safe  from  the  large,  fierce  men 
who  had  invaded  their  land,  and  before  whom  they 
could  no  more  stand  than  a  fawn  could  stand  before 
the  fierce  puma  of  the  mountains. 

Their  cliff-burrows  were  small.  Each  had  but  a 
single  room,  and  they  were  empty  save  for  a  few 
rabbit  skins  and  some  dry  leaves.  As  soon  as  they 
were  within  these  places,  they  ate  of  the  food  they 
had  brought  with  them;   and   then  they  lay  down  and 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  163 

slept.  In  the  morning  they  awoke,  ate  again,  and 
again  slept. 

As  the  sun  was  sinking  from  the  zenith,  the  man 
and  woman,  being  surfeited  with  sleep,  arose,  climbed 
down  the  perilous  niches  that  served  them  as  a  ladder, 
and,  having  drunk  from  the  stream,  they  sat  down  in 
the  sand  to  talk. 

**  What  of  the  dream  you  had  last  night?"  asked 
the  woman. 

**  I  know  nothing  of  it,  except  that  which  I  told 
you  yesterday,"  answered  the  man.  *' It  was  a 
strange  thing,  though,  that  I  forgot  you  in  it.  That 
was  the  strangest  of  all;  for  you  are  dearer  to  me  than 
all  else,  and  it  is  not  natural  that  I  should  forget  you 
even  in  a  dream.  It  is  a  wondrous  thing  that  you 
and  I  are  so  dear  to  each  other.  The  other  men  and 
women  seem  to  care  little  for  each  other,  but  to  you 
and  me  the  other  of  us  is  all  the  world.  Our  lives 
are  so  full  of  want  and  hunger  and  fear  of  our  enemies 
and  terror  of  the  great  animals  and  of  the  evil  spirit, 
that,  if  it  were  not  for  you  and  for  your  love,  I  think 
I  would  not  care  to  live." 

The  man  placed  his  arm  about  the  woman,  and 
pressed  his  cheek  to  hers.  And  he  told  her  again 
that  he  loved  her  and  would  always  love  her.  And 
she  nestled  in  his  arm  and  fondled  him,  and  the  light 


1 64  ADOBELAND   STORIES 

of  the  joy  of  love  was  in  her  eyes.  But,  aside  from 
the  love  they  bore  each  other,  Hfe  held  nothing  for 
these  people  except  the  pleasures  of  eating  and  drink- 
ing and  sleeping. 

They  wandered  together  throughout  the  little  valley 
that  lay  under  the  frowning  cHfF  where  they  lived. 
They  prattled  to  each  other  like  two  children  at  play, 
and  they  laughed  and  were  glad  because  they  lived 
and  loved.  That  night  they  lay  down  together  in  the 
narrow  little  room  of  rock  that  they  had  carved  out  of 
the  cliff;  and,  as  the  man's  eyes  began  to  grow  heavy 
with  sleep,  he  remembered  the  strange  dream  he  had 
had  of  a  broader  life  and  a  greater  love.  And  he 
slept;  and  by  him  slept  his  loved  one,  her  matted, 
unkempt  hair  mingling  with  his  own,  and  her  hand 
fast  clasped  in  his. 

Again  the  man  awoke.  The  sun  had  travelled  far 
past  the  meridian  and  was  sinking  toward  the  west. 
He  remembered  that  he  always  slept  where  he  chanced 
to  be  when  night  came,  so  he  did  not  think  it  strange 
that  he  was  out-of-doors.  But  it  seemed  unusual  to 
him  that  he  should  sleep  until  the  day  had  grown  so 
old.  He  reached  out  his  hand  to  feel  for  the  woman's 
hair,  as  his  first  act  upon  awakening  always  was  to 
place  his  hand  upon  her  matted  tresses.  He  did  not 
feel  the  hair,  and   sat  up   in   surprise;   for   she   always 


AT  THE  PU-YE  CLIFFS  165 

slept  near  him,  and  her  hair  was  always  near  his 
head. 

He  arose,  and  stretched  his  arms  out;  and,  when 
he  chanced  to  gaze  down  upon  himself,  he  saw  that 
his  body  was  of  unusual  size,  and  that  it  was  clad  in 
strange  garments.  He  looked  at  his  hands,  and  saw 
that  they  were  white.      And  then  he  remembered. 

The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  Sierras  de  los 
Valles,  and  the  blue  shadows  cast  by  the  peaks  seemed 
to  jeer  at  him  and  mock  him.  Lines  of  filmy  mist 
were  forming  above  the  foot-hills  and  over  the  valley 
of  the  Rio  Grande;  and  they  seemed  to  call  to  him, 
saying  that  he,  and  life,  and  the  world,  and  love,  were 
only  dreams,  and  phantasms,  and  mirages.  He  looked 
about  for  the  strange,  beautiful  woman  who  had  put 
him  to  sleep;  but  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He 
would  have  been  tempted  to  beheve  that  she  had  not 
been  there,  and  that  she  was  but  some  unreal  image 
that  had  come  to  him  in  his  dream, —  or  his  series  of 
dreams  within  a  dream, —  but,  lying  on  the  gray  rock 
where  she  had  sat,  he  found  the  soft,  white,  filmy 
lace  that  she  had  worn  upon  her  head. 


The  Law  of  Seh-now-wuff 


I  KNOW  a  quiet  nook  in  a  picturesque  valley  where 
dwells  an  Indian  chief  with  his  wife  and  some 
of  his  grandchildren.  Far  to  the  west  of  the 
valley,  snow-capped  mountains  rise  skyward  to  great 
heights;  and  to  the  south  is  one  of  the  broad  mesas,  or 
table-lands,  that  are  so  characteristic  of  the  lands  where 
the  Indians  dwell.  A  little  river  ripples  and  gurgles 
past  the  place  to  the  west,  and  back  of  the  dwelling- 
place  of  the  chief  is  a  wild  meadow  where  horses  and 
sheep  and  goats  are  grazing.  It  is  a  quiet  and  pasto- 
ral place;  and  the  chief's  home,  instead  of  being 
merely  a  brush  wigwam,  consists  of  a  board  house 
with  a  tent  at  one  side,  and  a  rude  barn  and  granary  are 
near  at  hand.  Ploughs  are  seen  about  the  place,  and 
wagons  and  harness  and  other  farmer  gear.  And,  in- 
deed, the  chief  is  now  a  farmer;  and  tilled  fields  are 
all  about  his  home,  while  a  little  acequia  brings  water 
for  irrigation  from  the  noisy  little  river. 

The  chief  himself  is  a  quiet  man  with  a  grave  face, 
and  the  look  of  sadness  so  common  to  Indian  faces  in 
repose  with  him  amounts  at  times  to  a  look  of  misery. 
He  is  popular  in  his  tribe,  and  is  proud  of  his  skill  and 
eloquence  as  an  orator.  The  white  men  like  him,  and 
the  Indian  agent  is  proud  to  call  this  man  his  friend. 
His  fields  are  fat,  his  herds  and  flocks  are  many,  his 
i66 


THE  LAW  OF  SEH-NOW-WUFF     167 

wife  IS  comely,  his  children  and  grandchildren  are 
among  the  best  people  in  the  tribe;  and  it  would  seem 
that  this  man,  growing  old  with  honor,  and  possessing 
fame  with  good  repute,  should  be  happy.  But  he  is 
so  unhappy  indeed  that  often  he  sits  for  long  hours 
under  the  shade  of  the  little  porch  of  his  house,  and 
longs  for  the  time  of  his  death  to  come,  when  he  can 
be  free  from  memory  and  sorrow.  I  learned  the 
cause  of  this  man's  sadness,  and  I  will  write  down  the 
tale;  but,  beyond  saying  that  he  is  a  Ute,  I  shall  not 
identify  him.  The  Ute-ah  is  a  great  nation,  number- 
ing thousands,  and  many  chiefs  and  sub-chiefs  rule 
the  nation.  So  it  will  not  be  easy  for  any  of  the  few 
who  know  these  tribes  to  say  what  man  this  tale  is 
about.  His  name  shall  be  written  down  here  as  Te- 
Aguen,  which,  in  the  language  of  his  people,  means 
"Friend  ";  and,  indeed,  it  is  a  name  often  bestowed 
upon  him  by  his  people  in  their  common  conversation. 
The  tale  of  Te-Aguen  really  begins  in  myth  and 
tradition  and  superstition.  The  Utes  believe  that  in 
the  beginning  of  time  there  was  darkness  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth  and  over  the  waters,  and  that  no 
living  thing  existed  except  the  Great  Spirit,  whose 
name  is  Seh-now-wufF,  and  his  brother,  the  Evil 
Spirit,  whose  name  is  Yo-woy-witch.  The  genesis 
of  this  people  relates  that  Seh-now-wufF  created  all  the 


i68  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

red  nations  of  the  world,  but  gave  his  love  and  his 
protection  and  his  guidance  only  to  the  JJte-ahy  v^'hose 
very  name  means  "A  Chosen  People,"  or  **A 
People  Apart."  In  the  glad  days  of  the  long,  long 
ago,  this  great  god  came  to  the  earth  and  dwelt  with 
his  people,  and  ruled  them  and  gave  them  laws  that 
exist  until  this  day,  and  that  have  been  sacredly  ob- 
served until  these  evil  later  times  when  the  lands  have 
been  overrun  by  the  white  despoilers,  who  have 
brought  new  laws  and  sore  punishments  for  their  in- 
fraction. These  ancient  laws  of  Seh-now-wufF  were 
told  to  the  first  maker  of  medicine,  and  by  him  to 
his  successor,  and  so  on  down  through  all  those  count- 
less generations  of  men  that  have  been  since  the  god 
committed  the  great  sin,  and  then  went  to  dwell  for- 
ever in  the  bright  land  of  the  sun,  and  prepare  there  a 
happy  land  for  his  people  to  journey  to  and  dwell  in 
after  death.  The  makers  of  medicine  recite  many 
of  these  laws  to  the  people  in  the  councils,  and  even 
in  gatherings  where  women  and  children  are.  And 
when  he  was  young,  which  was  before  the  white  sol- 
diers had  come  over  the  eastern  mountains  and  plains, 
often  had  Te-Aguen  sat  and  listened  to  these  sacred 
rules,  and  resolved  that  all  the  days  of  his  Hfe  he 
would  fulfill  them  all  to  the  uttermost  tittle.  To  this 
day  he  can  close  his  eyes,  and  in  memory  he  is  again 


THE  LAW  OF  SEH-NOW-WUFF     169 

seated  in  the  council  wick-e-up,  listening  to  old  Ta- 
rap-ah-wush  droning  off  the  laws  and  then  making  the 
young  men  and  boys  repeat  them  after  him  word  for 
word. 

**If  a  Ute  man  take  away  the  wife  of  another  Ute, 
the  one  who  is  injured  can  go  to  the  home  of  the  one 
who  has  despoiled  him,  kill  a  horse,  and  take  away 
another  horse.  The  horse  that  is  killed  is  a  sign  of 
his  sorrow  for  his  bereavement,  and  the  horse  that  he 
takes  is  in  payment  for  the  loss  of  his  wife." 

So  runs  one  section  of  the  code,  and  Te-Aguen  can 
say  it  word  for  word  to  this  day. 

"  If  a  wife  is  unfaithful  to  her  husband,  sinning 
with  another  man  of  our  own  tribe,  the  injured  hus- 
band may  beat  his  wife.  If  she  sins  with  a  man  of 
another  tribe,  the  punishment  shall  be  that  the 
woman's  nose  shall  be  slit  so  that  she  shall  be  there- 
after branded  as  unfaithful  all  the  days  of  her  life. 
But,  if  she  shall  sin  with  any  man  of  another  color 
from  that  of  the  Indians,  she  shall  surely  be  killed  as 
soon  as  the  sin  is  known.  And,  if  her  sin  is  not  dis- 
covered until  a  child  has  been  born,  that  child  shall  at 
once  be  killed;  for  it  is  not  lawful  that  the  blood  of 
white  men  or  black  men  or  yellow  men  shall  flow 
with  Ute  blood." 

So  runs  another  of  the  old  laws  of  Seh-now-wuff, 


lyo  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


and  it  is  one  that  every  Ute  girl  has  recited  to  her 
from  the  time  she  is  old  enough  to  talk.  Many  of 
the  laws  are  modified  and  hedged  about  with  many 
provisos,  and  so  distorted  that  it  is  easy  to  condone 
moral  laxity  and  hard  to  establish  conjugal  sin;  but 
the  law  that  relates  to  men  of  alien  color  and  to  chil- 
dren of  two  bloods  is  immutable,  and  is  even  yet 
above  the  law  of  the  Indian  agent.  And  it  is  be- 
cause that  law  is  in  the  Ute  code  that  the  chief  Te- 
Aguen  often  sits  on  his  little  porch  until  far  into  the 
night,  wishing  that  he  were  dead,  that  his  body 
might  return  to  clay,  and  his  spirit  fly  to  the  sun, 
there  to  atone  for  the  sin  that  he  did. 

When  Te-Aguen  vras  young,  he  held  much  aloof 
from  the  other  young  people  of  the  tribe.  Much 
love-making  went  on  among  the  youths  and  maidens, 
but  it  was  not  for  him.  And,  when  the  men  sat  to- 
gether about  the  camp  fire  and  related  tales  of  their 
conquests  of  the  other  sex,  Te-Aguen  drew  his  blan- 
ket about  him,  and  sat  silent;  for  his  mind  was  wholly 
filled  with  thoughts  of  Keahnatch,  whose  eyes  were 
like  stars  shining  through  a  mist,  and  whose  hair  was 
as  soft  as  the  blossoms  of  the  flowering  trees  in  spring. 
Often  he  sat  silent,  listening  to  hear  if  her  name 
should  be  vaunted  by  any  of  the  vainglorious  boasters, 
resolved  to  kill    the  man  who  should  say  ill   of  her. 


THE  LAW  OF  SEH-NOW-WUFF     171 

But  her  name  was  never  mentioned  by  the  amorous 
boasters;  for  the  girl  (whose  name  meant  **The 
Light-hearted  One")  was  a  good  girl  with  a  pure 
mind,  and  she  never  went  forth  among  the  people 
unless  accompanied  by  her  mother. 

Then  the  power  of  the  white  men  began  to  be 
shown,  and  in  time  came  the  dread  decree  that  Ute 
children  and  young  men  and  maidens  should  go  to  the 
schools  that  were  in  far  places,  there  to  learn  the 
harsh  speech  of  the  whites,  and  the  boys  be  taught  to 
plough  and  reap,  and  the  girls  be  instructed  in  sewing 
and  new  ways  of  cooking.  The  commissioners  who 
came  to  make  the  selections  chose  *'The  Light- 
hearted  One "  to  go  with  the  others.  Te-Aguen 
was  older  than  the  girl,  so  much  so  indeed  that  he 
could  not  have  gone  to  the  school  if  he  had  desired; 
but  his  shyness,  which  until  then  had  kept  him  mute, 
was  now  overcome  by  his  grief  because  the  girl  was  to 
go  aw^ay,  and  he  told  her,  in  simple  words,  the  tale 
of  his  love  for  her.  The  maid  was  very  glad  that  she 
had  won  the  love  of  the  young  brave,  and  she  prom- 
ised that  as  soon  as  she  returned  from  school  she 
would  become  his  wife.  Then,  clad  in  her  finest 
dress,  made  of  the  tanned  skin  of  mountain  goats,  and 
with  new  beaded  moccasins  on  her  feet,  Keahnatch 
went  away  to  school. 


172  ADOBELAND  STORIES 

After  she  was  gone,  time  hung  very  heavy  on  the 
hands  of  Te-Aguen.  He  tired  of  the  councils,  of  the 
hunts,  and  even  of  listening  to  the  tales  told  by  the 
old  men;  and  it  was  not  long  until  he  went  away 
down  the  valley,  to  the  very  place  where  he  lives  to 
this  day,  and  began  to  make  a  home  to  which  Keah- 
natch  should  be  welcomed  upon  her  return.  He 
built  a  wick-e-up  out  of  strong  branches  and  brush; 
he  cut  new  tent  poles,  and  built  a  new  tent;  and  he 
made  a  fireplace  out  of  clay.  Then  he  traded  among 
the  men,  and  got  Navajo  blankets  and  kettles  that  had 
come  from  traders  as  far  away  as  Santa  Fe,  and  jars 
and  pottery  that  had  been  brought  by  the  Pueblo 
Indians.  And  at  night  he  lay  down  in  his  new  tent, 
on  his  bed  of  blankets,  and  dreamed  of  the  happiness 
that  would  be  his  when  **  The  Light-hearted  One" 
should  be  his  wife. 

Months  passed, —  long,  weary  months  of  loneliness 
for  Te-Aguen.  And  then,  one  day,  from  over  the 
eastern  mesas  came  a  caravan  of  ponies,  bearing  home 
the  young  Utes  who  had  passed  so  much  weary  time 
at  the  hated  school.  Te-Aguen  saddled  his  fleetest 
pony,  and  rode  out  to  meet  his  sweetheart;  and  he 
was  very  proud  as  he  entered  the  camp,  riding  by  her 
side.  That  night  a  great  dance  and  a  feast  were 
given    to    welcome    the    wanderers    home   again,    and 


THE  LAW  OF  SEH-NOW-WUFF     173 

Te-Aguen  and  Keahnatch  frolicked  together  in  the 
dances  and  games  Hke  two  children.  And,  when  the 
dance  was  over  and  the  feast  had  been  eaten,  and 
little  children  were  sleeping  by  the  wood  fire  built  in 
the  open,  Te-Aguen  led  Keahnatch  to  his  new  home 
as  his  wife. 

Keahnatch  seemed  very  happy.  She  caressed  her 
husband,  and  whispered  soft  words  of  love  into  his 
ear,  and  never  seemed  to  tire  of  telling  him  how  glad 
she  was  to  be  away  from  the  despised  school  and 
back  with  him  in  the  valley,  where  her  life  could  be 
free  and  there  were  no  hateful  books  to  study.  But 
often  a  look  of  sadness  would  pass  over  her  face,  and 
often  she  would  gaze  wistfully  and  even  timorously 
into  the  eyes  of  her  husband.  And  so  two  days 
passed, —  the  two  happiest  days  that  have  ever  been 
in  the  life  of  Te-Aguen,  the  Ute.  On  the  third  day 
after  his  marriage,  Te-Aguen  said  to  his  wife  that  on 
that  night  they  would  go  to  the  main  encampment  of 
the  tribe  to  hear  an  old  man  expound  the  sacred  laws 
of  their  nation.  And,  at  night,  as  they  sat  in  the  circle 
of  solemn  listeners  about  the  blazing  fire,  Te-Aguen 
gently  pressed  the  hand  of  his  wife  as  the  old  man 
who  was  talking  droned  out  the  law  referring  to  the 
sins  of  Ute  women  with  men  of  another  color.  Ke- 
ahnatch looked  troubled,  and  trembled,  and  a  shudder 
convulsed  her  frame. 


174  ADOBELAND    STORIES 

In  time  the  meeting  was  over;  and  the  young  man 
and  his  wife  returned  to  their  home,  walking  down 
the  valley  hand  in  hand.  Te-Aguen  kindled  a  fire, 
and  Keahnatch  procured  cold  meat  and  other  food  for 
a  lunch. 

**  Now  let  us  sleep,  dear  one,  for  the  night  grows 
old,'*  said  the  man, 

Keahnatch  unrolled  the  blankets  and  skins  that 
served  as  a  bed,  took  ofF  her  fine  garments  that  had 
been  worn  to  the  meeting,  and  prepared  to  retire,  her 
husband  gazing  upon  her  fondly  the  while. 

*'  Do  you  think  the  laws  left  upon  earth  by  the 
Great  Spirit,  Seh-now-wufF,  are  just  and  true  laws, 
my  husband.?"    asked  Keahnatch,  falteringly. 

**  Surely,"  answered  her  husband,  in  some  surprise, 
**  When  I  was  a  little  boy,  I  talked  with  old  men  who 
had  lived  for  more  than  a  hundred  summers;  and  they 
told  me  that  the  laws  were  known,  word  for  word  as 
they  are  now,  when  they  themselves  were  little  boys. 
And  they  said  that  other  old  men,  who  were  old 
when  they  were  young,  had  told  them  that  it  was  the 
same  in  their  childhood,  and  that  it  has  been  so  from 
the  beginning  of  time.  Surely,  the  laws  of  Seh-now- 
wufF  are  true  and  just;  for  did  he  not  in  his  wisdom 
make  laws  about  horses  before  any  horses  except  his 
own  magic  horse  were  known  in  the  world?  But 
why  do  you  ask?  " 


THE  LAW  OF  SEH-NOW-WUFF     175 

**At  the  school  I  was  told  that  the  laws  of 
Seh-now-wufF  are  lies,  and  that  they  are  also  foolish/* 
slowly  answered  the  wife. 

**The  people  at  the  school  are  liars,  and  they  love 
not  the  truth,"  replied  Te-Aguen,  sententiously. 

**  But,  if  one  believed  the  talk  of  the  white  people, 
and  thus  unknowingly  sinned  against  Seh-now-wufF 's 
law,  would  the  sin  be  the  same?  "  asked  she  who 
might  now  have  well  been  called  the  **  Heavy-hearted 
One." 

**  Surely,  dear  heart.  But  why  do  you  worry 
about  the  old  laws?  I  have  made  a  law  for  you; 
and  it  says  that  you  are  to  hold  me  close  in  your  arms 
and  press  kisses  upon  my  lips,  and  that  you  and  I 
must  be  happier  than  two  people  ever  have  been  since 
the  time  Seh-now-wufF  created  the  races  of  men." 
And  he  stooped  and  kissed  his  wife  upon  her  cheek, 

Keahnatch  feebly  returned  the  caress,  and  then 
remained  silent.  Soon  they  lay  down  upon  their 
couch;  and  there  was  silence  in  the  tent,  and  no  light 
save  that  made  by  the  smouldering  embers  of  the  fire 
that  was  in  the  centre.  After  a  while  the  man 
asked: — 

"  Why  are  you  so  silent  and  sad  to-night,  wife  of 
mine?  Are  you  not  happy  to  be  home  again,  and  to 
be  my  wife,  and  to  be  here  in  your  own  can-nee?  " 


176  ADOBELAND   STORIES 


**  My  heart  is  very  heavy,  husband,  because  of  the 
law  of  Seh-no\v-\vufF. 

**  What  law  of  Seh-now-wufF?  "  asked  her  husband. 

Keahnatch  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  her  long  black 
hair  falling  about  her  shoulders.  She  gazed  wildly  at 
her  husband  for  a  moment,  and  then  said:  — 

**  Te-Aguen,  I  have  sinned  and  I  have  been  sinned 
against.  I  have  broken  the  law  of  Seh-now-wufF, 
and  the  medicine  men  will  kill  me  if  they  know. 
I  should  have  told  you  sooner,  but  I  wanted  to  steal  a 
day  or  two  of  happiness.  But  is  not  your  love  for 
me  strong  enough  and  great  enough,  so  that  you  will 
protect  me  and  have  me  sent  safely  back  to  the  school.?  " 

**  What  law  have  you  broken?  What  speech  of  the 
insane  is  this  that  you  are  using?  What  mean  you, 
woman?  "  asked  the  man,  springing  to  his  feet  with  a 
look  of  fear  in  his  eyes. 

**  I  have  broken  the  law,  husband,"  replied  the 
wife,  her  head  sinking  into  her  hands. 

**But  what  law?"  asked  her  husband,  almost 
fiercely. 

"  The  law  that  says  it  is  death  for  a  Ute  woman  to 
sin  with  a  man  of  another  color.  I  have  sinned, —  I 
have  been  deceived, —  and  —  and  ruined,  and  by  a 
white  man  of  the  school.  And — and,  in  time,  a 
child  will  be  born  unto  me, —  and  it  will  be  of  mixed 
blood, —  and  it  must  be  killed." 


THE  LAW  OF  SEH-NOW-WUFF     177 

The  woman  hid  her  face,  and  sobbed. 

The  face  of  Te-Aguen  froze  into  granite.  His 
eyes  shone  like  the  eyes  of  a  mountain  lion  that  is 
about  to  spring.  His  blood  surged  hotly  through  his 
veins,  he  clenched  his  hands  so  tightly  that  his  nails 
brought  blood  from  his  palms,  and  he  ceased  to  be  a 
lover  or  a  husband  or  a  man,  and  became  a  wild 
beast, —  an  animal  thirsting  for  blood. 

**And  you  have  done  this  thing  to  me!"  he 
hissed,  grasping  the  shrinking  woman  rudely  by  her 
bare  shoulder.  **  To  me  who  have  watched  you 
grow  from  infancy,  who  have  guarded  you  and  fought 
for  you  when  you  were  a  little  child,  who  have  had 
no  other  loves  or  lovers,  in  order  that  I  might  wait 
until  you  reached  the  years  of  womanhood,  and  then 
take  you  for  my  only  wife!  Woman,  speak!  Unsay 
the  lie  you  have  said,  and  tell  me  you  have  but  jested!  " 

"  I  have  spoken  truth,  my  husband.  Forgive, 
forgive!"   moaned   the  woman. 

**  Forgive,  and  make  myself  the  butt  of  every  fool 
in  the  tribe  who  can  fashion  his  mouth  to  a  rude  jest? 
Forgive,  and  break  the  sacred  and  ancient  law  of  our 
god?  O  woman,  fool,  beast,  prostitute!  I  will  not 
forgive,  I  will  not  forget!  I  have  loved  you,  and 
now  I  hate  you.  I  have  trusted  you:  now  I  shall 
kill  you!      Have  you   any  incantation  to   say  to  soothe 


178  ADOBELAND  STORIES 


the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit?  If  so,  sav  instantly; 
for  your  life  shall  go  out  as  quickly  as  the  melting  of  a 
snow-drop." 

The  woman  fell  forward  on  her  face,  crying  aloud 
in  terror,  and  feebly  holding  up  her  hands  to  ward  off 
her  danger.  The  stone  face  of  the  man  melted  from 
its  rigidity,  and  writhed  and  worked  in  passion.  He 
sprang  upon  the  prostrate  w^oman,  caught  her  long 
hair  fiercely  in  his  hands,  wound  it  in  a  noose  around 
her  throat,  and  pulled'  upon  the  strands  like  a  mad- 
man. The  woman's  breath  gurgled  in  her  throat,  her 
eyes  stood  out  from  her  face,  her  tongue  turned  black 
and  protruded  from  her  mouth,  and  her  fingers 
clutched  and  writhed  in  a  paroxysm  of  pain  and 
terror  and  supplication. 

"The  law  of  Seh-now-wufF,"  muttered  the  mad- 
man, "the  law  of  Seh-now-wuiF  shall  be  avenged! 
Die,  you  reptile,  you  breaker  of  laws!  " 

He  drew  the  strands  of  hair  tighter  and  tighter  about 
the  blackened  throat  of  the  suffocating  woman,  he 
held  her  head  down  in  the  dust  of  the  floor,  and 
finally  he  threw  the  quivering  body  away  from  him  so 
savagely  that  it  struck  the  opposite  wall  of  the  tent. 
He  stood  for  a  moment  glowering  down  upon  the 
body  of  her  who  had  been  his  sweetheart  and  his 
wife.      He  saw  the  quivering  of  her  limbs  and  hands; 


THE  LAW  OF  SEH-NOW-WUFF      179 

and  then  another  burst  of  red  fury  ran  through  his 
savage  blood,  and  he  sprang  upon  the  dying  form  and 
trampled  the  writhing  face  into  the  ground  with  his 
feet.  And  the  law  of  Seh-now-wufF  had  been 
avenged. 

That  was  all  in  the  time  of  the  long  ago,  before 
the  Indians  had  heard  any  laws  but  the  cruel  ones  of 
their  own  savage  god;  but  it  is  the  memory  of  that 
dying  face,  of  the  protruding  eyes,  of  the  swelling 
tongue,  and  of  the  quivering  limbs,  that  has  been 
before  the  mental  vision  of  Te-Aguen  ever  since,  and 
that  causes  him  to  be  miserable,  even  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he  has  become  a  chief  and  is  noted  for  his 
eloquence.  When  he  is  alone  and  silent,  always 
there  comes  to  his  mind  the  memory  of  a  dimly 
lighted  tent,  of  the  cold  moonbeams  shining  through 
a  slit  in  the  tent  wall,  of  a  smouldering  fire,  and  of  a 
hideous,  horrible,  crazed  being  —  that  is  himself —  that 
has  killed  all  that  the  world  held  that  he  loved  or  that 
was  dear  to  him. 


i 


